The Price of Beauty
by T. R. Myers
Summary: The first Doctor wasn't always gray, and he wasn't always the Doctor. He was a promising student with a strong sense of morality. He was a restless soul that could not stay home. And his first two enemies met him on his first adventure. One was a former lover, and the other was his best friend, and his hearts were broken.
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Price of Beauty

Series: Doctor Who

Rating: K

Genre: Sci-fi/Adventure/Mystery

Disclaimer: Though it shouldn't be necessary on , I thought I should resume adding disclaimers to my fanfics. I don't own Doctor Who or any associated characters. I am not profiting from them. If those who do wish me to stop, they need only let me know and I will do so immediately.

Summary: Who was the Doctor in his youth? Surely he was not born old. Who was he before his hair was gray? Has his early story anything to do with a rash of mysterious deaths of beautiful, young and not so young women in 1961?

(Author's forward: This story has been churning in my mind for some time. I was born and raised in St. Louis, Missouri. Like most American cities, we had a public television station known as the Public Broadcasting System. You know, that station that showed the likes of Sesame Street and Mister Roger's Neighborhood. Well, in the evenings and nights, a large portion was dedicated to British programming. So of course, during the summers, I would watch Doctor Who on Sunday nights, which usually started at 10 or 11 pm and ended at 12 or 1 am. New episodes were, to my earliest memory Peter Davison, but the summers were for reruns, so I had started Tom Baker, though his run ended a mere year after my birth. It was when I was eight or nine, I finally got fed up with missing Doctor Who because I had to get to bed for school during fall winter and spring, and I started recording before I went to bed so that I wouldn't miss episodes [it was because of this practice that I was introduced to the wonderful show, Red Dwarf. You see, it came on right after Doctor Who, but that is not the point]. No, immediately after the season, with the failed fashion of Colin Baker, I began taping ended, Channel 9 started its reruns. I had expected to see the previous episodes over again, and so I did, but I didn't expect to see "An Unearthly Child". I had heard that Doctor Who was quite old, but when you're a kid, you don't quite believe these things until you see the black and white and the classic sixties overacting. In total, there were two full William Hartnell stories presented, the one with cavemen, simply presented as "An Unearthly Child" even though the other three episodes had different names, and one in which a supercomputer behaves in a manner reminiscent of HAL 9000. I don't remember the name. It would occur to me later that however the Doctor regenerates, he can't have been born old. I would often write silly stories on my Apple IIC word processing program about where the Doctor came from. Those stories are long gone. Here is a fresh attempt, along with my effort to stay as close to canon as possible. I hope you enjoy. By the way, I know Matt Smith has always wanted to be ginger, but since William Hartnell was one, we'll just assume the eleventh Doctor simply forgot that he has already been a ginger. After all, you can forget quite a bit in 900 years.)

On Earth...

On a television, in someone's home, somewhere in 1961:

"...BBC's Echo Four-Two will continue after a word from our sponsor's."

An elderly woman appears on the screen, particularly wrinkled, the wrinkles deepened by a miserable scowl. A sultry woman's voice comes through the speakers, voicing over the image. "Do you feel useless, unwanted, unloved? When you look in the mirror, does something hideous stare back? Do you feel that you can never be beautiful? You're wrong." The elderly woman's wrinkles seem to melt away and within seconds, a woman in her 20's is shown on the screen. "Experience a miracle. Regenerate your body. Restore your face. Rejuvenate your life. Turn back time with Eden cosmetics." The beautiful woman speaks to the screen. "Thanks to Eden, not only do I look and feel young again, I have the time to enjoy it!"

Gallifrey, the Early Rassilon Era

Excerpt from "The Forbidden History of Pythias and the First Lords of Time."

Author unknown.

"Who the first Enemy was, history does not say, but Rassilon knew. He admitted to knowing the identity of this mysterious Enemy, and that the secret would do the general public no good. One can wonder if it would have done Omega some good to know the dangers he faced when he created the Eye of Harmony. Rassilon saw numerous enemies in those days. He saw enemies in a group of harmless witches that still followed the ways of the Menti Celesti, a rather harmless group of people who were content to hide in the temples of the Pythias. He destroyed them utterly. Who then was his third companion? Rassilon denies the existence of a third but our legends speak a great deal of this Other. If he didn't exist, then why does Rassilon go to such lengths to suppress those old stories that are supposedly nothing more than fanciful tales, with no more substance than the Toclafane?"

Gallifrey, in the House Lungbarrow

The looms churned their genetic material, a great vat bored deep into the crust of Gallifrey. A small, unassuming young Gallifreyan stared blankly into the glowing matter, knowing that somewhere in it, there was a capsule connected to a tether, and that at any moment, it would be brought forth from the life material and another cousin would be born. The young boy, not quite child, not quite man, wondered if this child would look up to him. Probably not. They all called him Snail or Wormhole, their derision palpable. He reminded himself that all they had were this simple nicknames. By tradition, and no small amount of magic, his true name was unpronounceable and could only be spoken by one person, whom the young man may never even meet. For the moment, he was stuck with such derogatory designations, but he would find a name of his own that all may address him as. For the moment, he preferred his Academy designation; Theta Sigma, still naught but a number.

Thete, as he was called, knew that we wasn't without hope. The House Lord Quences knew Thete to be brilliant. The old, hateful fiend had special plans for Thete. Thete cared nothing for it. Political intrigue abound in the Houses of Gallifrey. Likely, it was some plot or other to overthrow the Lord President, oh, what was his name? One could see how much Thete cared for politics. The Great Lord Rassilon cared nothing for the intrigue. Politicians could murder each other to their binary heart's content. Let the lower government punish their political assassins. What would Rassilon care for these loom born who had overthrown and killed most of the true Time Lords?

What concerned Thete was that thanks to an ancient curse, Time Lords could not have children. The looms were the only means of procreation for Time Lords. That meant that the child exiting now was family to all, as all DNA was as one in the looms. Quences' wizened voice called from below. "Snail! Come see your new cousin."

Thete turned to the voice. Quences only used them. Thete knew that he was nothing but a tool for Quences' ends. Reluctantly, he turned and walked down the stairs into the progenitor chamber of the looms. He approached Quences, who gestured to a Time Lady sitting at the back of the room, cradling a sleeping infant in her arms. Her name was Amara, and she had been the matron mother for as long as Thete could remember. She was, perhaps, older even than Quences. Still, she looked young, having only just regenerated. She looked down at Thete with kind eyes, the only one who did. "Theta Sigma, you have yet to name a cousin. All cousins your age and younger have done so twice. You are out of excuses." The admonition wasn't stern, and her eyes twinkled in amusement.

Quences would likely have spoken against allowing Thete to choose a name, but the demands of tradition staid his tongue. So, Thete spoke. As was tradition, the name he chose was in the most ancient tongue of Gallifrey. Though many recited it, few actually knew it. Thete was one who was fluent and he was able to choose a name without the need for research. Quentus certainly could not speak it and his jealousy was palpable.

Amara said, "What a magnificent name. Do you know its meaning?"

Thete said, "The Birth of Joy."

Amara looked up at Quences and said, "You did not tell me this one was versed in the tongue of Ancients."

Quences stammered, "That-well-He did not say!" Composing himself, he spoke more evenly. "The boy has so many hobbies and unusual fascinations, who can keep up?"

Thete chose not to correct the lie, though he could not imagine why Quences was being so dishonest. He could have simply said that telling Amara hadn't occurred to him. Was he hoping that Amara wouldn't realize that Thete had a talent for speaking difficult languages? Then it struck Thetes; when had he learned Ancient Gallifreyan? He could recall no lessons, and realized that he knew it with such unconscious competence that it was as though he was born to it. Now, Thete feared that Quences would use this to ridicule him. The cousins were always using these strange things to point out the strangeness of Theta Sigma.

Again, he dwelled on the strange things he remembered. He remembered being in the looms, waiting to be born. He remembered his parents and growing up on his estate, but it might have been a dream. There was the strange aperture on the lower portion of his abdomen; one of the Ancient ones had called it a belly button. It was that peculiar bit of anatomy that had earned him the nicknames "Snail" and "Wormhole". Thete always knew he was different from other Time Lords. He knew that was why he was a Deca. That alone should have silenced his ridicule, but it never did. "Snail looked into the Eye of Harmony and fled," they said. Yes, he ran. It wasn't the future that terrified him, it was the past. It was because he knew that he was much older than the looms. Yet he looked into the mirror and saw the face of an adolescent youth, nearing manhood, but not quite there yet.

"No one is an infant," Amara always said, "merely reborn."

In the looms, there was knowledge, but it was more than just a collection of fact. It was the understanding of all things, and there was a barrier. Thete remembered it clearly. In that primordial soup, he had lived just as he walked through the halls of Lungbarrow. He remembered that he was much older. He remembered a time before the looms. Did that mean he had lived before? He had a canal in the middle of his stomach, but only womb-born Time Lords had such things, and Lord Rassilon was the last of the womb-born. The wall in the looms...

Behind that wall was truth; secrets of life and death hidden by the Three...Rassilon, Omega, and the Nameless One. There was only one way through that wall, and if Thete took it, he would be forced to start over, and the reasons why would be lost to him.

The Museum

There was only one more testing semester left at the Academy and Quences took his most promising pupils to the Museum of Time. It was a boring place but it did hold one point of interest, the retired Interspacial Temporal Dimensional Relativity Transport Modules. It was Thete's favorite place. It told of adventure. People who operated these devices weren't confined to Gallifrey. Sadly, only a rare few were ever allowed the luxury of such a device. These were the elite. Thete would never be one. Quences was convinced of the opposite, but Thete knew Quences ambitions. That terrible man could never be allowed to become the Castillan.

Thete looked down at one of the models. It was scene on a distant, primitive sort of planet called Earth. There were people walking in streets, driving primitive gas combustion devices. On the side of a street was a strange blue box. It said, Police (public call) Box on top. There was a caption that said, "An example of a Time And Relative Dimension In Space unit with chameleon circuit in use. This is a representation of a moment captured from the Time Matrix. Time unknown. Place appears to be London, Earth."

Thete looked up at one of the real Time Transports. It was a bizarre, white cylinder, with roundels diagonally positioned from each other in a pattern covering the device. Thete knew that when these roundels detected another culture surrounding it, they would literally manufacture a synthetic casing to disguise the device. The device called to him. He knew that they were alive and even telepathic. What could he say in response? It had to know that he couldn't possibly simply answer its summons, yet it called, begging to be taken away. Thete looked at its plaque. "Time And Relative Dimension In Space TT Type 40."

A heavy hand fell upon Thete's shoulder. He turned to stare into Quences wizened face. Something was wrong. Quences was looking at Thete in a...kindly fashion. If Thete didn't know better, he would say that Quences looked upon him in a fatherly fashion. "Thete," said Quences, and Thete quickly noted that Quences used his affectionate name instead of calling him Snail or Wormhole, "my dear prodigy, the Council of Time Lords is impressed. The House of Lungbarrow hasn't produced a Time Lord as gifted as you in nearly two thousand years...me, as a matter of fact. You will be simulating a battle against the Cybermen at the Academy next week?"

"Yes," said Thete.

"Listen to your unit commander. Follow all orders. I know you will do well."

"You're not usually so encouraging."

Quences' face darkened for barely a moment. "My reputation hinges on my performance. They need a Castillan and if House Lungbarrow produces a genius, I will have the post. The next step will be Lord President! I am simply reminding you that after the simulation comes the final test. Do well," and he dropped his pretense, his face becoming hideous, "or suffer my wrath, Wormhole."

He left Thete to think on the threat. Thete was no fool. Whatever anyone may have believed, he knew that Quences had made no idle threat. Thete had to make sure that when he challenged Quences, he would have all of the advantages. He would, of course, need a secondary plan. Thete looked back at the TT Type 40, and wondered at the possibilities. "Keep hoping," he said aloud to the Time Device, "and I shall hope for both of us."

The Simulation

Thete hated violence, and these were real Cybermen, but he knew, intellectually that they were being done a service. Their minds were so suppressed, the Cybermen could not even protest what they had been forced to become. Thete was under the command of his best and only friend, another nameless one who had been given a designation. Phi Gamma, the oldest in class, had ordered Thete to take guard duty on the rear perimeter, knowing how he despised violence and Thete watched as the Cybermen broke through the left flank. The simulation range was stark and bland, but the fighting was real enough, the Cybermen using real weapons against the Time Lord's highly destructive energy staves.

"Fools..." intoned one of the Cybermen, for they didn't really speak, but made sounds approximating speech, "you dare...to...yuz...the Cyber...men...for sport?"

Phi shouted, "I ordered you to reinforce the left flank!"

"I did," his lieutenant shouted back, "but when the Cybermen focused their fire there, I thought the risk was too great and ordered the left flank to break."

"Idiot! You should have held. If the Cybermen were focused on the left, we could have brought our units around to pin them. How dare you disobey my orders? I am in command. Here, I am the master! In this chamber, I am your master!"

"Sir, I don't think..."

"You're a disgrace! You're dismissed. I'll replace you with someone I can count on. Theta Sigma! You're my First Lieutenant now!" Theta stepped forward and Phi spoke on. "What are our options now?"

Thete paused only a moment and said, "With the left flank broken, they're coming up a corridor they created. Let them have their corridor, and reinforce the walls with our men."

Phi looked off into the middle distance as he considered. "Surround them. They'll see it coming."

"Of course they will. That was probably their plan. Our alternative is to break and regroup. Any other course of action makes us a shooting gallery. There is one saving grace with my plan."

"And that is?"

"Since they likely planned for it, they, understanding combat logic as well as they do, probably won't expect us to deliberately fall into their trap."

"Actually doing what they want us to do might take them by surprise." Phi looked around at the men surrounding him and said, "You heard him! Reinforce the corridor!"

It actually became a brilliant coup. The Cybermen had underestimated the Time Lord's firepower, and in fact, they had anticipated that the Time Lords would avoid the trap, so when the trap was deliberately sprung, the Cybermen were caught unawares. In the back of his mind, Thete knew that the disgraced lieutenant would not even qualify for the exam. He would fail the Academy, a mundane guardian, a foot soldier. Thete was sick in his hearts knowing that he would deliberately suffer the same fate to prevent Quences from using him as a foot stool.


	2. Chapter 2

The Test

Quences had come to Thete again and again encouraged him to do his best, immediately threatening him with dire consequences thereafter. Thete sat in a room that, so that ordinary beings may understand, was not unlike the college lecture halls of Earth. The test sat before him and would decide whether Thete would be a true Time Lord, or a simple Gallifreyan. Thete decided that he would pass with barely the required score. He would have a chance for greatness, though not a good one, and Quences would be nevertheless disgraced.

Question 317: "When disabling or enabling a simple mechanical device with a sonic device, what is the simplest and preferred method?"

Thete laughed. That was easy. One needed only to reverse the polarity of the neutron flow, but that isn't what he wrote: "Unsonic it." He wasn't even certain if "unsonic" was word, but so much the better if it wasn't. Thete cringed. He hated having to pretend to be stupid, and he knew his instructors would see through him, but there would be nothing they could do. At the same time, he praised his own ingenuity for ensuring that he would at least pass.

Of course, his teacher knew immediately, begged him to retake the test, not to throw away his career because he disliked Quences. Thete stood firm.

"Well," Professor Magnus said, "I will try to negate some of the damage you have done by putting in a good word. The Council sometimes takes these things into consideration, you know. What will Quences do?"

Thete shrugged, a decidedly unintelligent gesture. "Likely he will disown me; possibly try to kill me. I only hope Amara doesn't suffer for it."

"Well, he won't know until next cycle at any rate, so you have some time."

But Magnus was wrong. Quences' contacts had informed him that very day of the test. It had yet to be graded buy Magnus, but Quences was perfectly capable of determining the score for himself. He sat in shock and did not acknowledge Thete when he came in. Thete, for his part, resolutely avoided looking at Quences. He went back to the looms and told Amara what he had done.

"Oh, Thete," she said, her dismay palpable. "I should be disappointed, but I can only be proud that you made such a sacrifice on such principle."

"Proud of 51 percent?" came Quences' voice from behind.

Thete turned. How had Quences known? "I'm sorry but I don't understand you."

"Don't understand me? Question 239: 'Through how many dimensions does time flow?' Your answer, 'However many it feels like.' Question 199: 'Describe time and its components.' Your answer, 'A big ball of wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff.' Have you an explanation?"

Thete raised a single finger and said, "You know, on both points, I'm not actually incorrect. After all, dimensions shift through the flow of time as space expands and contracts, and time is rather circular with no real form."

"Both correct answers. If you want to unlock a door with a sonic device, what do you do?"

Thete answered automatically, before he could stop himself. "Reverse the polarity of the neutron flow."

"You ungrateful snake! You could have passed that test with a perfect score and you deliberately failed!"

Thete had never seen Quences quite like this. He had heard such euphemisms describing a person as though he might explode. He never took them literally until now. Quences really looked like he was going to explode like some comical keg of blasting powder. It was incredibly frightening, actually. Thete actually feared for Quences' health, and for his own!

Amara raised a calming hand. "Quences, please. It is only a test."

"Only a test!" he literally shrieked. "All my life I've waited! All my life, and this is what he does to me!" He pointed a crooked finger at Thete and said, "Leave Lungbarrow." He staggered over to the loom controls and activated them.

"What are you doing?" asked Thete. "Lungbarrow is already at full capacity. It's illegal to grow another cousin."

"You are no longer a member of Lungbarrow," Quences said, his voice barely a whisper. "We now have room for another. Leave and never return."

Thete turned, not in defeat, but in anger and stormed through the corridors of Lungbarrow, leaving the house directly. Quences sought to become more than the Lord of Gallirey. Over the years, Quences had divulged his plan of conquest to Thete, always derisive, as though chiding Thete for not having the imagination of a tyrant. Now, the tyrant had gone too far. Abuse of the looms was a crime of the highest magnitude. It devalued what was left of Gallifreyan life. It reminded the Time Lords of how easily they could become insignificant slaves and automatons.

The burnt orange sky was still bright above the city, and Gallifrey wasn't so alien that its inhabitants did not base their daily cycles on the course of the daily sun, so the Council would remain operational until sunset. This was where Thete went now, anger burning through him like an unquenchable flame. He didn't even notice how everyone in the entry hall stopped and stared at him as if he was an oddity. He did not realize that, in fact, he had become a person of interest.

A voice, young and female, called out. It was impossible to know her age under ordinary circumstances, but Thete knew that she was just a year older than he. "Theta Sigma, just the man we've been wanting to see."

He turned, surprised that he was expected. The woman who spoke was a cousin of the House of the Jade Dreamers. She was beautiful, and Thete had found her alluring before, not for her beauty, but for her mind. She was an oddity. She was as brilliant as Thete. "Rani, certainly you weren't looking for me."

Rani smiled. Thete supposed other beautiful women were even more attractive when they smiled, but the Rani gazed in such a manner that when she smiled, she looked like a predator on the prowl. It did not suit her. "The Council has big plans for you."

"They'll be disappointed. I only just barely passed my test, and I certainly didn't score enough to qualify for anything beyond guard duty."

Rani frowned. It was a pouting, whimpering expression. Again, it did not suit her. "Yes, I know. 51 percent. Thete, are you so clever that you think everyone else is stupid?" Thete was taken aback. Rani didn't miss it. She flashed that predatory smile again. "If you can come up with a ploy, there are others who can figure out that you're pulling a ploy. Please...your scores at the Academy are the highest in the history of Gallifrey. Your most important exam, you fail. Who needs to know. The Council has already decided. You are Chancellor."

Thete actually stumbled. "Chancellor, me? The next highest office to the Lord President?"

"You're more brilliant than any other."

"It's absurd! Not to mention a gross misuse of my talents. Perhaps when I am older, but now? No, my dear Rani. One does not begin his career at the top of the ladder. That's no way to make history."

"But you have made history." Rani draped her arms around Thete. "The youngest Time Lord in history appointed Chancellor! Your manipulation of the exam was brilliant. The examiner was stunned! You deliberately passed by a single question! Your math was infallible! But nobody can know. Your exam is sealed. Sensitive. Council's eyes only."

Thete's rage welled up in him. He burst. "Unacceptable! Chancellor! Sealed tests! This has been a farce, and I have played the jester! To name any fresh graduate Chancellor merely shows that the Council has grown flaccid and corrupt. I'll not have it. I have plans that do not involve the Council. I'll not a be a prisoner here, or on Gallifrey. Chancellor indeed!"

A dangerous look of warning crossed the Rani's face. "Thete, think on what you are saying. To refuse the Council and spurn them is one thing but you are talking of going rogue."

"Indeed, and what care have I left? Lungbarrow has disowned me. Quences knew this ended his hopes for the Council. He is making a new cousin as we speak. Indeed, I am here to report his behavior! I've no anchor."

Rani's eyes widened in horror with each word. With the last three words uttered, her horror turned to heartbreak. "What about me? Am I not an anchor?"

Thete smiled wanly and looked down at her. She really was quite beautiful. "Once, perhaps. Then I saw with my own eyes that your experiments were more important to you than the subjects you tested them on. Not only did I not approve, but even if I did, I realized that you could never care so much about me."

Rani paused, clearly stunned, and took several deep breaths before speaking. "Thete, we've had our little disagreement before. You have both of my hearts."

"Really? Suppose I asked you to give up your experiments entirely; change your branch of science?"

Rani did not answer.

"Hmm? I thought so, and we both know that if I were to ask such a thing, it would do you a disservice as well."

Rani's eyes fell to the floor. Her hands slipped from Thete's shoulders. She stood deep in thought and after several seconds, Thete turned to continue to the criminal reports department. Her voice stopped him again. "Easily! I could change it easily! Astronomy? Temporal mechanics?" She grabbed him by the wrist and brought him around so that her face was barely an inch from his. "You and I, Thete! Can't you see? We are the greatest minds of our time! Our genius together! To hell with ruling the universe. We can shape it to our whims! We can be gods!"

"And therein lies the reason that you and I can never be. It's not your experiments that define you. It is your philosophy. Whatever course you choose, your destination remains the same. It's not the same place I'm going." He wrenched free from her and walked away.

She called across the hall, heedless of who heard. "Theta Sigma! A thousand years from now you will remember this day as a mistake. If you leave you leave alone! No Time Lord will walk with you! And when that day comes, I will be the only one who will take you! I'll be your only shelter, and you will beg me! I'll be the only one who cares, then you'll ask my forgiveness! I won't give it until you ask, Thete! You have to ask!"


	3. Chapter 3

An hour later, Thete was back in the museum. It was a massive place, displaying the history of time. Time had an awfully big history. It covered essentially everything. Samurai, Nazi, Abraham Lincoln, the Weeping Angels, the Celestial Intervention Agency, the first Slitheen space ship, the Dalek invasion of Nimbros, the birth of the Nestene Consiousness, the Vampires and their journey's through space led by Dracula, and the rise and the fall of Sontarans. Thete starred at the earlier depictions of Gallifreyan life. Magic was powerful on Gallifrey. The first controllers of time were witches.

Thete could feel the rumble, even this far away. The House of Lungbarrow was no more, its residents buried alive. *Come.* Thete looked around. Where had the voice come from. Again, *Come.* The voice was not in the halls, but in Thete's mind. He followed the call, the pull. *There is no future with people who live only for the past.* Thete followed. *Time Lord, you are my physician. Will I be your patient? Will you save me from solitude?* He found himself in the Hall of Time Travel, staring directly at the TT Type 40 Time And Relative Dimension In Space module that had intrigued him earlier in the week. The security measures around it had been turned off. Was that right?

*I've left the door open just for you.*

Indeed, the doors were open, and Thete could see into the console room.

*You see the truth. The rest will see what I want. You're safe. Join me.*

Thete stepped forward.

*You see, you and I, we were meant for each other.*

He was inside. It was stark white with gray roundels covering every surface except the floor and the console. The console was octagonal, with a large cylinder in the middle, probably the time rotor. Then the doors closed behind him, and the spell was broken. To his horror, another museum artifact had followed him through the doors. It was a large casket, but Thete knew what was inside. "The Hand of Omega?" Why had it followed him? No matter. He was in big enough trouble if he was discovered. He searched for the switch to open the doors.

*Why?*

Thete stopped and considered the question. Why indeed? The Rani cared only what he could achieve for her. Lungbarrow had betrayed him at every turn, and the Council had proven to be a bunch ignoramuses. The only reason he could think was that he did not know how to operate the time ship.

*What kind of obstacle is that? You're a genius. Can't you figure it out?*

There was a note on the console. "Flip the switch." Which one? A black arrow pointed to one just above the note. Thete flipped it. What coordinates? What trajectory? What century? He couldn't say. All he knew was that the ship wheezed and pitched. When it stopped, he realized that his eyes had been closed. Opening them, he stood up. The doors opened. As he walked forward, the Hand of Omega followed. "Stay here," said Thete, "at least until I figure out what to do with you." The casket obeyed.

Going outside, Thete found himself on a world quite different from what he was accustomed. The sky was blue and the air was cold. The cold made no difference to him, but clearly, the people here had to dress very warmly, wearing things such as scarves and fur lined boots. How extraordinary! He could see his breath! The street looked strangely familiar. He turned around and looked at his time ship, and he immediately knew where he had seen this street. His ship had donned the visage of a blue box made of wooden panels with a sign on top that said, "Police (public call) Box," and a sign on the door explaining that the phone was for public use too and that police should answer all calls. Thete understood where he had seen this before. This street with this disguised time ship and these very same people had been displayed in the museum model he had seen a week before.

"Can I help you, son?"

Thete turned around and saw a man dressed in black with a matching hat. His shirt was buttoned in cotton and there was a tiny replica shield upon his chest. Thete recognized the style. "Ah, yes, you are one of the constabulary of this fine city, aren't you?"

"Son, you're dressed funny and you look mighty confused. If you can't tell me why you're here, you'll have to move along."

"Ahh, well, sir, I don't mean to cause trouble. You see, I am a traveler, simply passing through."

"Seeing the sights, are you then?"

Thete nodded.

"But you sound local, and those bloody strange cloths..." he scratched his head. "You aren't from some kind of cult, are you? Well, there isn't much to see down here, but if you walk that way a ways," he pointed, "you'll see Parliament and Big Ben. Lots more interesting than here." Thete bowed and walked in the indicated direction, the police officer watching him.

And as Theta Sigma entered this strange new world, events conspired to involve him in a strange series of events. The tales briefly moves on to Paris, France, a place that Thete will not visit in the immediate future, but where one of many events will unfold, involving him in the intrigue that will inspire the name he chooses for himself. An event as far from Thete's interest as imaginable was taking place in Paris. It was the Spring Fashion Week, and fashion model, Carla Gianna Rimbaldo sat backstage being fitted for clothes by her employer, Christian Dior. Carla was new, only 16, and her dream was to go to Hollywood and become a star. She certainly had the potential. After months of grueling training she had finally been allowed on the runway, and people had noticed her. Famous people had asked her name!

Now, her fitters smiled and doted over her in a way they hadn't the previous night. Carla had proven herself, and the in the back of her mind, she could help but think that she was identical to every other girl who hadn't messed up the previous night. She was just another model that did her job right, but no, that was what made her special, came the assurances of her fitters in their heavy French that she could barely understand. They like girls that know how to hold themselves in front of a camera. It was back to work. They couldn't get her dress to fit. It just wasn't cut right, but that wasn't a problem. Correct cuts were for the stores, not the runway. The solution was simple. One fitter pulled out a roll of duck tape while another pulled out a box of straight pins. Carla looked around in panic.

The girl next to her said, in English. "Don't worry. If they can't get your dress to fit they just tape it on. It only has to stay on a few minutes anyway." That accent...American? Carla liked Americans. For someone trying to make it to Hollywood, Carla felt that the more she learned about Americans, the better.

"So, what they are doing, it is normal?"

"Yeah, it won't hurt you." She seemed to think about it a moment. "It might sting when you pull the tape off later."

Carla laughed, earning a momentary scowl from one of the fitters. Then came the makeup designer. Dior was using Eden this year. Everyone was using Eden. The makeup artist was more than a representative of the company. Christian Dior was privileged to be treated by one of Eden's founders, a stern but beautiful woman who simply called herself Rani. She addressed Carla in perfect Italian with a flawless Sicilian accent, a surprise to Carla, because everyone knew that Rani was English. Carla smiled to hear her own language spoken so expertly by a foreigner.

"You are so perfect," said Rani. "It seems to me that the only way I can improve is to add a bit of eyeliner to bring out your lovely eyes."

Carla closed her eyes as Rani applied the dust. Carla was no stranger to makeup, but this was a curious sensation. It tingled. She had never known makeup to do anything like that before.

"Now open your eyes," said Rani.

Carla did and saw her own green eyes in a mirror with a glittering silver eyeliner. But something was strange. It was as if her face had been fuzzy all of her life and it was brought into sudden, sharp relief. She could see every minute detail, and while she did have some imperfections, despite Rani's praise, they were surprisingly few. This was no makeup mirror. It was flat, but her vision was so clear as to defy belief.

Rani examined her closely. In English, she said, "Eye-opening, isn't it?" She turned to Carla's new American friend. "And you must be Jennifer Thilmony. Let's see about you."

"I know," said Jennifer, "my face is a freckle explosion."

"Ahh! Freckles are charming, but even more so if there are only a few, strategically placed. You, I think, are going to be wearing a good amount of my line when the lights come up."

"I am a huge fan. I wear your makeup every day. It's like being born again every time I leave the mirror. Your makeup is incredible."

Rani smiled at the praise, but there was something in the eyes that was...foreboding, and the smile was almost feral. It wasn't so much a smile as a vicious animal bearing its teeth. Carla couldn't understand it. Rani had been so charming when she faced Carla, but now that her attention was on someone else, she saw someone quite different, and very unpleasant.

The Rani smiled again, "I understand how you feel."

Jennifer's smile fell a bit as she said, "Yeah, you know, I'm never first pick, but with a face like this, who can blame them."

"You feel overlooked, unneeded, like the world sees right through you."

Carla probably should have held her tongue, but she couldn't stop herself. "I think Jennifer's beautiful."

"Damned right, she is," said Rani. "Sometimes, though, we need to be shown."

When Rani was finished, Jennifer was a work of art, with just a smattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose and on her cheeks. Then that moment came when they lined up backstage. Jennifer seemed unsteady on her feet, but she waved off Carla's concern. Then the music started. Angela was first, Jeanine was second, Lissette was third, Jennifer was fourth, and Carla was fifth, with another twenty behind her.

Carla took a deep breath, and then Jennifer walked. Wait for the cue. She heard the word go and she went, one foot in front of the other like an Egyptian mural, creating a swagger with attitude. The camera flashes were brighter than usual. It was whatever Rani did...ignore it. Walk to the end of the runway. There were famous people everywhere. There was John Wayne, and was that Liz Taylor? Stop. Face forward. Count to three. Face left. Count to three. Turn 180 degrees. Count to three. Walk back up the runway. The directors, fitters, and Christian Dior himself were all there, cheering her, praising every girl. The fitters took her and in seconds, she was wearing another outfit, a variation of the taped on dress. Line back up.

Jennifer held the bridge of her nose. She was in obvious pain. Again, she waved Carla off. She could see Rani's hunter smile. It terrified her. She did her job, but this time she didn't make it to the front of the runway. Jennifer was there, people from the back were hissing for her to move along, but she just stood there, shaking. Jennifer slumped to her knees. Carla instinctively hurried forward, putting her hands on Jennifer's shoulders. Jennifer's head lolled back, her eyes staring upward, unseeing, quite dead. Carla looked around and saw Rani. She was looking at Jennifer, that predatory smile on her face. She seemed to realize that Carla was watching her and her smile vaporized, to be replaced by an expression of shock, not shock at what happened, but shock at being observed.

Carla realized that she had been joined by medics, one of whom was saying in a clear Parisean accent, "Elle est morte. Madamoiselle, sil vous plait, elle est morte!" She is dead. Miss, please, she is dead!


	4. Chapter 4

The Patient

Thete walked endlessly. He saw a building, massive in standing, by position, could only be the Parliament that the officer directed him to. In grandeur, the building reminded him of the House of Lungbarrow. Though the architecture was quite different, the layout was very similar. A throng of people crowded around him and he found himself taken away from the building. Not a long way away, he stood before a simple gate, two guards dressed in red with tall, black caps, stationed on either side. The building was palatial, and Thete entertained the notion that this was the central government building, but that could not be. He had just come from a building called Parliament, its very name suggestive of government.

A group of people were harassing the guards and Thete feared some imminent retaliation, but the guards did not move. He observed the performance of a series of bizarre rituals, the shouting of vile insults that have resulted in harsh response from any soldier on any planet. These guards stood firm, seemingly oblivious. When the people finally left, Thete approached cautiously. They each stared resolutely ahead, but clearly saw.

"Are they allowed to do that?" Thete asked. No reply. "Ah, I see. You're prohibited. I think it an awful disservice. It is preposterous that you must be humiliated and say nothing about it." Thete bowed and moved along.

As he walked a voice said, "You know, they're there to guard the queen."

Thete stopped and turned. Not far from the guards was a young woman, with dark skin, her features not quite matching the other people in the city. Thete said, "Is that so?"

"Only the greatest need may draw them from their posts. Anything less than a direct threat to them or that which they guard is beneath their notice. They must stand vigilant, even if a bunch of tourists decide to test those guards' reputations by making fools of themselves."

"I am Theta Sigma."

"I am Ozma Ichiba, my father is the Japanese Ambassador to England."

"I see, so we have something in common; neither of us are from here. Were you a tourist testing these guards at some point, then?" Thete asked shrewdly.

She laughed. "I might have, but my father wouldn't have it. He is a man of deep honor. He thinks all soldiers should be treated with the utmost respect, especially those with thankless jobs." She observed him and said, "You are dressed so strange. Did you come from church?"

Thete looked down at his robes and realized that they appeared incredibly formal when compared to the standard style of dress in London. "I suppose I look like I have. I'm afraid I wasn't terribly prepared when I left home."

"Why don't you go home and change then?"

"Oh, I can't. I'm afraid I'll never be able to go back there, and I might have been a bit more prepared if I hadn't been forced to leave in such a hurry." Then he considered that the time ship may have rooms that would accommodate his clothing needs. "I may have a solution if you'd care to walk with me."

Ozma fell into step alongside Thete as he retraced his stepped. "Your name is interesting. Is it Latin?"

"It is, in fact. It's just a number, really." Thete pondered how she would know of Latin, a language that Time Lords used for all systems of designation and measurement, and then it occurred to him that some time in the past, a Time Lord must have introduced the language to Earth.

"Just a number? What kind of name is that?"

"Well, my true name may never be spoken, and my familiar name...well I haven't chosen that yet. I'm stuck with Theta Sigma until I do."

A strange look crossed Ozma's face. "Intriguing. You might be playing with me."

"I assure you, that is the custom of my people. We are a very old people with very old traditions."

"How do you get your name?"

"Sometimes, I one performs a deed that earns him or her a name. One might chose a name that reflects his or her career, or one's heart's desire, or one's driving focus. I'm certain you have similar customs."

Ozma shook her head. "No, when we are born, our parents give us our names and that is it. It's the same everywhere. You must be from someplace very remote."

When they came to a stop, Ozma looked around. Thete said, "I think I'll find some suitable clothes."

"Where? All I see is a police box."

"Please, just give me a few minutes." He disappeared inside the police box, leaving Ozma agape. She was convinced the whole thing was joke and was going to open the door, but he suddenly opened it again. He was dressed in finely cut suit with an old fashioned bow tie, the kind that drooped, with casual golfers pants and a pair of black dress shoes. In the short time he was missing, he had even done his hair. Where as before, his red mane stood up as if struck by lightening, now it was neatly combed, hanging past his jaw line, curling in elegantly at his neck. He had also procured a walking stick. All of this from a police box.

"You play a joke with me," she said sternly. She actually found the whole production rather charming.

"Not at all my dear. Now, you know this town better than I. To employ a local vernacular, lead the way."

She stood still, an amused expression on her face. "What are you hiding in there?"

"Nothing, it is a simple phone box."

"Complete with hairdressing kit? Now you have to show me." She tried to get around him.

Nothing Thete did seemed to dissuade her and now he was in a panic. If this continued, it would surely attract the attention of the constables, who might not be interested ordinarily but would remember Thete. He had been unprepared for this possibility, and now he was stuck. She was convinced he had played a trick and would not be satisfied until she knew exactly how he had executed it. Being that the trick was played upon her, she would except nothing less than disclosure. As Thete leaned into the door, it opened and he let Ozma rush past him. Her silence was not a surprise. He stepped inside behind her. She was only able to say, "How..." before falling silent again.

"You were quite correct. I am from a distance very remote to anything you know. I come from a society that has mastered time. We are the oldest in the universe. There are none older."

She turned. Her previous humor was gone. Everything changed. "Why are you here?"

"I told you. I am here because I have nowhere better to be. I'm not sure why I came here specifically, except that before I was here, I was fleeing my home. I have no set goals. My whole plan was simply to wander town until something interesting happened."

"You're sight seeing?" She seemed unconvinced.

"I'm running away, in this antique time ship, that needs massive repairs and restoration, that needs a crew of six at minimum, and I guess she's running away, too. These ships aren't like your ships. They have thoughts and desires of their own."

Ozma seemed to accept this rather quickly. Her good humor gradually returned, but she seemed unsteady, at times even dizzy. "What are you running away from?"

"I'm running from Quences, that old fool was using me to attain power for himself. I'm running from my government. I am merely a youth and they want make me a leader, put me at the top of my career before I have the opportunity to spend time at the bottom. I'm running from her."

"From her?"

"If she had loved me, that would have been different. But no. She is dangerous, power-mad. She once told me that morality and kindness were merely obstacles that weak-minded people threw in the path of progress. She told me that she needed me to show her the way to become a god. It's all she cares about. She even named herself Rani. It means queen in this world's Hindu language."

Ozma looked very peculiar. She looked as if she was deep in thought. Finally she said, "I'm honored you've trusted me." She looked down at something in her hand. "You know, it's a strange coincidence, but there is a famous Rani here on Earth. She's..." and she swooned. Thete rushed to catch her. She was shaking badly, then Thete saw something. He wasn't sure how he knew, but he knew humans wouldn't be able to see it. A halo appeared around her head. There was something drawing energy from her and channeling it somewhere. Thete grabbed what was in her hand. It was strange, round container. Inside was a mirror, a brush, and a colored clay compound. On the outside of the case was the word, Eden.

Ozma was dying. Thete fed her some of his life force. It was enough to boost her, but he had to get her to a medical facility before he could risk giving her more. He needed the help of a doctor. Taking her outside of the time ship, he flagged down the same policeman that had stopped him before. When Thete explained that she was the Japanese Ambassador's daughter, the medics the officer had called simply said, "St. Mary's".

"You'll be going, then," said the policeman.

"Going where?" asked Thete.

"The station. You'll need to give a statement."

"But the doctor will need me. He won't understand what happened."

"And you do?"

"I daresay that if you don't think I'm quite mad already, you'll be convinced of it by the time you hear what I observed."

"Explain it then."

So Thete, leaving out the detail of the time ship, explained how he met Ozma, their whimsical conversation, how they walked together, how she got dizzy, everything he had told the medics, but then, with some trepidation, he explained that he had literally seen the energy siphoning off of her head. He could literally see her dying.

"How did you keep her alive?"

"I don't know. I don't even know how I saw it, let alone how I was able to slow it. I do know that the doctor will not understand. What's happening...it's not natural."

The policeman looked over to the medics loading Ozma into the ambulance. "A lot of girls have been dying like this recently, and you're right. The doctors are bamboozled." The policeman turned back to Thete. "How's I to know you wasn't the one what caused it?"

"Would I have sought you out?"

"No, I suppose not. The hospital then."


	5. Chapter 5

A Dreary Assignment

The office was posh, too posh. The chairs were loathsomely comfortable and the desk may well have been made by the same carpenter that fashioned the Resolute Desk. Pictures of the royal family adorned the room, and across the hall, an office full of Japanese. There was always excitement at an embassy. Only the best could be trusted to safeguard foreign dignitaries. That was exactly what they told Captain Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart. The phone rang, probably another dreary request for another dreary report. He didn't have to answer. He could say he was away from his office on an important assignment for the Consulate. He answered.

"Japanese Embassy, Captain Lethbridge-Stewart's office." The blood drained from his face. There was another victim, and it was the Ambassador's daughter. Now he wished he'd never wanted a bit of excitement. "I'll inform him immediately. What room? Thank you. I'll take him there directly."

He stood abruptly, straightened his uniformed and rushed, perhaps a bit too quickly, to the door and went to the Ambassador's office. He didn't knock. The Ambassador was a short, rotund man, but his eyes were intense and world weary. He looked up, clearly annoyed at the Captain's rudeness. He said, "Is there a reason for just barging in like this, Alistair? I expect better from you."

"I thought you wouldn't want to wait. Your daughter has fallen suddenly ill. Doctor's don't expect her to survive."

The annoyed expression froze upon the Ambassador's face as the sudden shock took hold. "You're right. I apologize for thinking you rude. Take me to her."

"That was my plan. Come along."

As they walked down the hallway, a stately gentleman, Lethbridge-Stewart's superior approached, graying hair closely cropped around his ears, spectacles hanging on the end of his nose. "Ah, Captain Lethbridge-Stewart. I have an important matter to discuss with you. Do you have a moment?"

"I'm afraid not, Brigadier. Mr. Ichiba's daughter has fallen ill, and is possibly dying. We've no time to lose."

The Brigadier looked stricken. "Oh, of course, Alistair. Hurry along, but when you get the chance, I do need to talk to you about a very important matter. Don't forget." He quickly stepped aside.

The Hospital

The doctor stared at Theta Sigma, a sneer on his face. Everything about his posture radiated arrogance. "I suppose the ludicrously named young man is a properly trained medical professional."

Thete bristled at the comment. "No, but then again neither are you. Only a fool would dismiss new testimony offhand."

"Your testimony is ridiculous."

"And what evidence do you have of that?"

"Well, it's preposterous! Seeing energy siphoning. Next you'll have me believe you're a Martian."

"And you further prove my point. Instead of giving hard data disproving my statement, you simply insult the idea and then try to discredit me by belittling me. Martian? I would have you believe no such thing. What I would have you believe is that I witnessed something strange and unusual, and unless you are so incompetent that it has escaped your notice, this is the only girl showing these signs of ailment that you have ever seen alive. You said so yourself."

The doctor drew himself up as if defending against a most degrading attack. Apparently, he felt Thete's insult struck well below the belt. "I am not incompetent, and neither has that fact escaped my notice. My practice is based in science, not the eclectic or esoteric. Unless you have proof..."

"That is not my burden. I am merely the witness. It is up to you, the expert to determine the evidence, which you have not done."

The doctor said nothing. He looked to the policeman, then to his nurse. "What's her temperature?"

A young, blonde woman dressed in white, her hair closely cropped, her body rather robust and unfeminine said, "103, sir."

Another young woman, with black, curly hair opened the door of the exam room and looked in. "A soldier says he's escorting the patient's father."

"See them in," said the doctor.

A man with black hair and a mustache entered, followed closely by whom Thete assumed was Mr. Ichiba. Meanwhile the doctor examined Ozma closely.

The soldier stepped over to the policeman and said, "I'm Captain Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart. Could you bring me up to speed."

Ichiba listened closely as the policeman described the events as Thete had also explained them, including the bizarre confession of the strange energy. As he finished, the doctor cried out in frustration.

"I don't know what you want of me!" He glared at Thete. "I can find no evidence dismissing what you've told me, and what evidence there is is circumstantial! What you describe is so far beyond what medical science knows I can't even fathom it!"

"Then at least accept the possibility. Science and knowledge does not advance in the company of closed minds."

The doctor nodded, and then his face brightened as though an idea presented itself. "Young man. If you can at least duplicate what you claimed to have done to keep this young lady alive, I might have a bit more to go on."

"Well, certainly, I could try. I give no guarantees. I had no idea I was capable of it. I have no idea how I did it. I can only say that it happened. Now, with that in mind, I will try to make it happen again."

The Captain stepped between Thete and the doctor and said, "Just a moment. I don't like to just dismiss the young man's statement. I'm sure he believes the whole bloody mess, but you can't tell me that in here, you are actually buying this cock and bull?"

Mr. Ichiba stepped alongside Thete and said, "And suppose this man can save my daughter?"

The Captain turned around to face Ichiba. "Based on what? Suppose he's nothing more than a charlatan and only makes things worse."

The doctor said, "Oh, that's quite impossible. The girl is dying. She is already beyond my help. There is nothing to lose."

Ichiba turned to Thete and said, "Do what you may. I beg of you. She is all I have."

Thete stepped by all of them and knelt by the foot of Ozma's gurney. Her breath came out in a death rattle. Her skin was pale and cold to the touch. Her eyes were sunken in. She was unrecognizable from the girl Thete had met only an hour ago. The humans felt that what they were seeing was absurd. Here was this young, red headed man, barely past his teens, dressed like an old man, placing his hands upon Ozma's forehead like an American evangelist. What happened next, none of them would ever forget.

They all saw the golden life essence swirl around Thete and literally flow around Ozma. The radiation filled the room, and though none of them fully understood what they saw, they all caught glimpses of Thete's memories. The caught glimpses of the looms, of the Academy, of the orange sky and the silver leaves of Gallifrey. When the energy subsided, they all thought they had merely glimpsed nonsensical daydreams, but they left an impression. Nobody forgot them.

Then all was normal. Ozma sat upright, quite revitalized, looking quite healthy. Thete lay on the floor, his fever high, his heartbeat weak. What was killing Ozma, he had taken into himself. That much was clear. The blonde nurse tended him. She had taken his temperature, and had given up trying to read the thermometer. It couldn't have possibly been all the way to the bulb, though he did feel warm.

"I can't get a clear reading on any of his vitals," she said. "It's the strangest thing I ever did come across. He sends the thermometer haywire, and I'd swear I'm hearing two heartbeats."

Ozma stared in shock at everything, then her eyes focused on Thete. The others had caught glimpses of Thete's memories. Ozma had seen them all. Whatever Thete did had fundamentally changed her. She even knew the name for what had happened to her: meta-crisis. She looked at him with respect and adoration. She would always owe him her life.

The doctor stepped up to the nurse and took the stethoscope from her. He placed it upon Thete's chest, where one might expect to find a heartbeat. The doctor looked as confused as the nurse, then he moved the stethoscope far to the side, and his eyes widened. He moved it to the other side of Thete's torso and his eyes, if possible, grew wider still. "This man has two hearts." He stood up and looked around the room, unseeing. "It all adds up." He looked the policeman in the eyes. "Do you realize what this means?" He turned to the Captain. "He's an alien."

The policeman's comedic timing was perfect. "He did say he was foreign."

"Don't play dumb." He turned back to the Captain. "You know what he's worth to the scientific community."

The Captain said, "Considering he just saved the life of somebody I regard as a friend, I have to say that I don't follow you, Doctor..."

"Cromley. And you don't have to follow. I have my own telephone. I can call my own people."

Doctor Cromley walked to a door only to find his path blocked by Mr. Ichiba. "That man saved my daughter's life. If you dishonor him, then you dishonor me. If I am dishonored then England will have dishonored Japan. You will threaten that young man over my dead body."

"You'll learn nothing from him," said Ozma. "And you will not hold him. He is too clever. I shared his mind for a time. He only wants to help us. All of us. There is a deadly epidemic and he sees it." Ozma smiled, looking slightly deranged as she did, but given all she had been through, perhaps this was forgivable. "You seek to punish him for being better. He healed me when you couldn't. You punish him for being a better doctor!"

On the floor, Thete stirred, his life force returning to him, death vacating. His red hair had briefly paled, and now it grew vibrant again. He put a hand on his weary forehead. He had been awake for a some minutes now, hearing most of what had transpired. Now, Thete continued to listen.

Doctor Cromley said, "You misunderstand. I'm not talking about punishing him. Think of all we can learn from him. He could live in the lap of luxury all the while."

"Finery and frippery make a prison not less a prison," said Thete rising from the floor. "Contain me and learn from me? That is what my own people sought to do, and I tell you what I told them. It is a gross misuse of my talents. Unacceptable!" He turned to the Captain. "Captain Lethbridge-Stewart, is your government in the habit of greeting visitors to your country by imprisoning them?"

"Certainly not," said the Captain.

"Well then, the good doctor intended to detain me illegally, unless I am very much mistaken."

Doctor Cromley said, "He needs a passport! He's here illegally if he doesn't have a passport."

"I can take care of that," said Mr. Ichiba. When everyone looked at him, he said, "Well, I do run an embassy, don't I?"

Lethbridge-Stewart gave Doctor Cromley a stern look. "Yes. That matter is easily corrected. You're name was Theta Sigma?" he asked, turning back to Thete.

Thete did not have time to answer. Ozma said, "No! He is searching for a name and I have found it." She turned to Thete, a grateful smile on her face, and said, "Your name is the Doctor."

Thete inclined his head, and said, "Doctor...I'm the Doctor...Allow me to introduce myself. I am the Doctor. Yes, that will do very nicely." He turned to the Captain and said, "Thank you."

Lethbridge-Stewart smiled and said, "You're quite welcome, Doctor...who?"

The Doctor said, "No, my dear Captain, simply 'the Doctor'. That is consistent with how my people name themselves. I am the Doctor, the definitive article, you might say."


	6. Chapter 6

Grace Hargrove sat before her vanity, chastising herself for letting herself be taken in by a door to door salesman. If she had been in her thirties, she might have understood why, but now, when she was 67? Oh, why did she listen to that man? Why hadn't she just shut the door in his face? Now she had spent sizable amount of hard earned sovereigns on cosmetics she had no use for. He had told her they would make her young again. Ha! Indeed! Grace had seen those ridiculous commercials. Any fool could see that it was different woman at the end.

She was 67-years-old and despite her name, she had not aged gracefully. She looked much older, and a scar along the side of her face that had once marred her features now folded in to make her face look lopsided. It was the 1920s when she had got that scar. Something had spooked the mail carrier's horse and poor, frightened creature plowed into her. She must have flown some fifty feet before slamming face first on the pavement. Her husband had given the mail service an awful hard time about it.

Now Grace looked in the mirror at the face of a grandmother who had seen her fair share fortune and misfortune, bumps and bruises, and happy days. Well, she had spent the money on the damned stuff. She may as well try it out. She rubbed a thin coat of concealer cream on her face and was astonished by how well it hid her wrinkles, but that damned scar was visible again. It went right from her eyebrow down to her jaw and to her neck. She put a thicker layer of concealer on and the scar was then barely visible. Looking in the mirror, Grace could already hardly recognize the face staring back. It was quite eerie.

Covering her face with foundation, the transformation had become so apparent that it didn't seem natural. All of her logic and reason demanded she stop! There was something unnatural at work here, but the idea of looking 20 again was too strong in her mind, and for once, it seemed that this miracle product could make it happen. She finished applying the foundation and felt giddy. What struck her was that she didn't look like an old woman obsessed with reclaiming her youth, as so many of these old, make obsessed women did; she actually appeared to be getting younger. She applied blush and eyeliner. She applied mascara to her eyelashes.

Tears streamed from her eyes, and for a moment she feared that the mascara would run, but it didn't. It was a good thing too, because she couldn't stop crying. This was impossible. She had to try the rest of it. She spent literally an hour in the bathtub, careful not to get water on her face. She dyed her hair. She scrubbed herself with the body wash. She was like a woman possessed. She had found a fountain of youth. The body conditioner and lotion was applied. She was careful to cover every inch of her body, and the product did not disappoint. She had the same face and body she had had when she was 20.

She went to her room and wore clothes that she hadn't worn in thirty years. She finally settled on a slinky, green sequin dress that she had worn to the club the first night she met her husband. She could never forget that night. He introduced himself by saying, "If I died and were surrounded by angels, I still would never see a sight as beautiful as you." She heard the door.

"Eugene," she called and was shocked by her voice. It was crisp and clear. It wasn't the voice of a woman that had been chain smoking for 20 years.

She walked downstairs, amazed by the strength in her legs. When Eugene saw her, he stood frozen, as if time had suddenly stood still. "Isn't it wonderful?" she asked. "It's a miracle! An absolute miracle!" She told him all about the man selling Eden cosmetics. They even had a bath line for men.

And far away from Grace and Eugene, who were preparing to relive their youth, there was a large, but unassuming office building. A 1959 Ford Thunderbird convertible pulled into a reserved parking space, and a security guard bowed slightly as a beautiful woman stepped out. She was in her early thirties with luxurious red hair, wearing a business suit and matching skirt that fell to just below her knees.

"Good afternoon, Miss Rani," said the guard.

Eden Cosmetics had become a giant in the fashion industry in a matter of months. Soon, this office building would have to be replaced with a larger facility. Rani would need better labs, a larger production floor, and a larger office space for a larger staff. She walked straight for the conference room to deposit her business materials, for which she would later call a meeting. In the head chair sat the CEO and co-founder of Eden Cosmetics, a wretchedly elderly man, who needed to walk with a cane. He dressed all in black. His snow white hair was closely combed and his beard and mustache were trimmed into a goatee. He grinned and his teeth were almost black with age.

"My dear Rani," he said, "are you wasting time with your toys or are you finding a solution to the matter of my apparent decomposition?"

Rani looked daggers into the old man's eyes. "Don't blame me for your advanced age. For six of your lives, the moment you so much as had a muscle spasm, you chose to regenerate. Face it. You squandered your lives. I am doing the best I can to help you, but in case you haven't noticed, there is a business to run and I am the face of it."

The man shrugged and said, "What happened in Paris?"

"The life extraction compound works quickly. It killed the girl before she was out of sight."

"It doesn't work on everyone, does it?"

"No, elderly women and men will experience the same benefits you are, and it'll nearly double their life expectancy."

The old man smiled. "Good. The more people who die for my youth, the more will have to survive so we can always insist that our product isn't the cause."

Rani sat down, deep in thought. "I noticed that the energy doesn't all come back here."

"Rani, my calculations were perfect. By linking the life extraction serum to the dimensional vortex, we ensure that everything comes to the source."

But that hadn't been even true in the beginning. "No, don't you remember? We had to allocate a certain amount to make sure the elderly who used Eden would get a portion of the vitality our youthful women sacrificed to us, but I tell you, it doesn't all go where it's supposed to. I'll have to recalculate."

"A waste of time. The vitality that I get is sufficient, now you must find a way to use it to restore my regenerations. I only have two left, and then? If I choose to remain after my final regeneration, I will become a ghoul. I won't even be able to show myself to my closest allies."

"The danger is too great. First I must account for the energy drain."

"Rani, don't anger me. It is my opinion that you have taken too long already."

"There must not be a margin of error for this to succeed! You agreed to play this my way."

"I don't have enough life to wait for you to succeed!"

"Then find some. I will conduct my experiments as I see fit! I give no less than perfection, whether you like it or not."

The old man stood, a dangerous glare in his eyes. "You will obey me."

Rani sneered and she spat, "Oh please, I am not one of your weak minded puppets. Don't you dare challenge me."

"I will challenge you and you will fail, Rani." He raised his hand to her eye level, pointing with his open hand ominously in Rani's direction. "Kneel before your master."

Rani stood firm, defiant, a smirk creasing her face.

The Master's eyes widened, intensity flowing from them. "Obey the Master. Kneel before your Master!"

Rani snarled and the Master was flung back into his chair, seemingly by an outside force. The Rani said, "You may be a master of mind control, but I cut my teeth on defending myself against psychic attack. Even the strongest telepath cannot overcome my mind. Don't you dare try it again or I will burn your mind to a cinder."

The Master rose back from his chair and began to pace the room, his cane thumping lightly on the pad-less carpet. "Can you blame my restlessness? The answer to the question of immortality is within our grasp. The fact that these primitive humans bend so easily to my will makes them ripe for conquest, and I can set myself as a god among them. The Master over them, the Rani my right hand, and humanity as our slaves we could build a world that could challenge Gallifrey. And all you seem to have time for are fashion shows and fast cars."

"I need to see my makeup work in the field in order to root out potential problems. I need to know who is buying our product to tailor to our own needs. As for the car, it's rather comfortable for a primitive combustion system." Rani smiled smugly. "I must look the part."

"Meanwhile, time runs short."

"My research must continue apace. Try to rush and you court failure." Rani glared at the Master. "Learn patience. Impatience is why you are in this predicament. You are a mere 400 years old and yet you are rapidly approaching the end of your life. Look at me. I have had to regenerate twice. Yet I am the same age as you. Take that lesson everywhere you go, even with this crisis. In the end, only patience will serve you well."

The Master nodded, not as though he understood, but as if he had been defeated. "I cannot deny the wisdom in what you say." The Master halted his pacing and turned to the Rani, "You know, another Time Lord is here."

"How do you know?"

"I saw the time ship. It is disguised as a police telephone box. I would have missed it completely if I hadn't perceived the perception filter. I sense our old friend, Theta Sigma. Still young. Hundreds of years separate us. He must have only just fled Gallifrey."

"He could be a problem."

"Nonsense. He is still young and does not even measure his age in three digits. Inexperienced. Innocent."

"Moralistic. Do not underestimate him. He has cleverness beyond both of us, enough to make up for lack of experience. I know him better than any."

"I was his closest friend," said the Master, indignant.

"And I was his lover," said the Rani, an air of superiority about her. "Do you claim to know that much about him?" Rani stood and strode briskly to the door. "Come along. I have a new formula I want to test."

"Directly, my good Rani." Thus, the Master followed to Rani's lab.

Once there, he observed as the Rani pulled a dish of one of her recent foundation creams from a shelf and began to measure out chemicals into individual tubes.

"Another test, Rani?"

Rani didn't seem to notice until she said, "The subject I experimented on died much to quickly. She claimed to have been a religious user of my line since it first came out, but she still had plenty of vitality. Mere minutes after I had my latest foundation cream on her face, she collapsed, almost instantly dead. I need to reduce the vellatigen content. The slower the process, the more benefit we get from it. Don't worry, it's all about maximizing our returns."

"Are you talking finance or immortality."

The Rani looked up in annoyance. "Immortality, you fool. This won't work with even a slight margin of error."

She finished measuring out test tubes and poured them into the bowl of foundation, writing out everything she did. She pressed a panel next to her and a part of the lab table rotated to reveal a device far too advanced to made by humans. She spooned a small amount of the foundation into a receptacle. Information was fired directly into Rani's eyes. She smiled and pulled a paper printout from the machine. "This seems to work much more efficiently." Disengaging the device and hiding it from view, she moved to a telephone on the wall and pressed a single button. "Hello, Scott. Meet me in my office in about fifteen minutes. I have a new foundation recipe for you to start production on." A pause, and Rani smiled. "Oh, trust me, Scott. It's to die for."


	7. Chapter 7

The Smoking Gun

There had been 30 cases in England alone. The Doctor had ruled out the water as not enough people were being adversely affected. Were the clothes perhaps picking up harmful molecules from somewhere? No. Careful examination ruled that possibility out. The Doctor examined diet, work spaces, social gathering spots, and stores. Nothing accounted for the mysterious deaths plaguing Europe. These deaths were concentrated in Great Britain, France, Italy, Sweden, Spain, and Germany. The deaths were also limited to the major metropolitan areas. The Doctor listed "consumer goods" as the principle suspect. He cataloged everything Ozma had in her possession and examined every single one of them. He realized that something was missing.

He leaned back from the microscope that the Captain had provided him and looked around his makeshift laboratory and found who he was searching for. Ozma dozed in a chair, still not fully recovered from her ordeal. The Doctor felt that he owed her a debt of gratitude for naming him just as she felt that she owed him a debt of gratitude for saving her life. "Ozma," he said. Her head jerked upright when her name was called. "I believe that you have forgotten something."

She stood, drowsy and walked over to him. "No, that was everything."

"Everything? Is there not a ritual that women of this world perform to enhance their appearance? Doesn't that involve a chemical compound?"

"My makeup?" she said, her face showing confusion, then she brightened. "You suspect we are being poisoned."

"No, as I said before, you are being drained. I merely suspect a potential catalyst. Tell me what cosmetics you wear and which companies."

Ozma thought a moment. "I wear hair cream to keep my hair under control. I wear blush, some eye shadow, those pretty much every day. I don't wear foundation or concealer unless I'm going to a party. No mascara either. I wear fingernail polish. It's all made by Eden."

The Doctor listened with a passive face. "I would like to examine these products. Tell me everything you know about Eden."

"Not much. One of their CEOs is in the news all the time. A woman who is only known as Rani."

The Doctor's face darkened. "Rani. I see. Things begin to add up. Very well. Go fetch some Eden for me. It is high time I examined it very carefully."

Once the Doctor had the products he began to examine samples of them. First, he noted the chemical interactions, as he mixed the samples with various chemicals he had mixed to equate various effects. His findings were intriguing. Next, he examined the compounds to determine what they were made of. What he found disturbed him. He called the Captain and Mr. Ichiba to his lab.

As he was explaining what he found to Captain Lethbridge-Stewart, the Captain said, "Doctor, could you explain exactly what on Earth vellatigen is?"

"Well, that's exactly it, Captain," said the Doctor, "it is nothing that has ever been on Earth until now, and because of its nature, it is technically not on Earth even now."

The Captain sneered. "Is it even possible to clarify that statement?"

"With a bit of explanation, yes. It requires a basic understanding of a certain science that you likely do not possess, but can be educated on. I should say a very basic level. Time travel."

The Captain rolled his eyes. "Doctor, you've done some impressive things and we all owe you a debt of gratitude, but time travel is a bit much, don't you think?"

"No," said the Doctor flatly, "I don't. My dear Captain, today, you have met a man that you can safely reason is not of this world. Would you have believed it yesterday?"

"No."

"Do you believe it now?"

The Captain seemed to search the room, "I'm open to the possibility, though I'm still not convinced."

"Well, I am convinced, and when it comes to defining me, my opinion is the only one that matters." The Doctor glared at the Captain. "Very well, don't believe me, but if you want an explanation, you'll have to suspend your disbelief."

"All right, Doctor. I'll play along. Disbelief is now officially held in suspense."

The Doctor nodded in acceptance of the implied challenge: make Captain Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart believe. "First, you must understand that you, that is to say, humans are not the oldest civilization in this universe. You aren't even the oldest civilization on this planet. Your planet isn't the oldest inhabited one in the galaxy let alone the universe. While other nations of this world feebly attempt to shoot ridiculous steel shafts at the moon, other worlds are lazily commuting between worlds as easily as you walk to your neighbor's house. Most of them are content to leave each other alone, but some are not.

"Captain, if a man can visit this world from another world, rest assured that no matter how primitive his technology may be to most, to you it is sophisticated beyond your wildest imagination. Of all the civilizations in the universe, mine is the oldest; so old in fact, that many of us are convinced that we are gods, or should somehow be allowed to become gods. I was once intimate with a woman who holds that very belief, that she is a goddess, and that it is her right to take what alien world she might and use it as she will. She calls herself the Rani."

The Captain's eyebrows narrowed. "That sounds familiar."

"It should. Our training includes the study of certain developing species, including Earth. She discovered her name when she heard an ancient Hindu myth."

The Captain said, "I served in India for a time..." his eyes searched a scene that only he could see. "Rani means queen."

"Indeed."

"Pretentious."

"Pretentious enough for the kind of megalomania I have just described?"

Ozma said, "Wait! I just told you about the founder of Eden. Her name is Rani."

"Yes. It is one the clues that has helped me to develop my theory. Shall I continue my explanation?"

"Go on," said the Captain.

"Millions upon millions of years ago, my people were like you; struggling with science and rationale and yet clinging to childish superstitions and religions. Unfortunately, for us, with our natural abilities, magic was all too real. Three scientists, Rassilon, Omega, and meh-one of my ancestors challenged the priestesses of Pythia, a group of witches that ruled my world. It was civil war, with Rassilon and the leader of the Pythia locked in a titanic power struggle. Rassilon succeeded because Omega developed a device called that he named the Hand of Omega. With it, he turned a star in a neighboring star-system into a black hole. Unfortunately, he was drawn into it, but in doing so, he created the Eye of Harmony; the power source that gave us the power to travel through time. With that power, Rassilon navigated the history of our world and undid all of the great works of the Pythias, essentially destroying them by erasing their history.

"Rassilon and my ancestor set to work discovering the secrets of time travel and they learned that there were three substances that were unique to the interdimensional vortex."

"Don't tell me," said the Captain, "one was vellatigen."

"Precisely, and the properties of vellatigen are at work in our victims. It rejuvenates old and unstable tissue while destroying new tissue. What the police and news media haven't taken note of are a handful of miraculous instances of age reversal. 60, 70, and 90 year old women are literally reporting that they now have the bodies they had when they were 20. Could such a thing be medically possible? No, only the reversal of time could explain such a complete rejuvenation. Meanwhile, young women across Europe are dying of unknown causes."

"Well, to what end, Doctor? Why put a substance as clearly valuable as this vellatigen in makeup and victimize youths that the perpetrator will likely never meet?"

"That brings me to the next property of vellatigen. It doesn't exist in this dimension. Only an echo of the substance exists here and that echo is what is put in the makeup. The source material cannot be moved from its point of origin. It has been generated."

"And whatever this substance takes out of the victims can be found in the source."

"Precisely. The perpetrators are collecting something from these girls. What they intend for it, I can only guess, perhaps some much more potent concoction that they intend to use for themselves."

"But what could they be taking from these girls?"

Ozma said, "Our vitality. Our essence. That's what they are taking."

The Captain's jaw quivered. "A horrifying tale, but too outlandish to accept outright."

"Then you don't believe me," said the Doctor.

"That's the problem. I believe every blasted word of it." He ran his hands over face. "By God, none of the pieces seem to fit, yet it becomes clear that the only way they do fit is if you are telling the truth. Death can be rationally explained. What you did can't. There are no answers and then you tell this ridiculous story can't be a lie because it is the only thing that explains you." He looked at the Doctor. "What do we do?"

The Doctor rubbed his chin. "Obviously, if you act based on what I have told you, you would be removed from duty pending an evaluation." The Doctor pondered for a moment. "Perhaps you can arrange for me to meet the Rani."

"I can't just pencil in an appointment for you to meet a global fashion celebrity. You'll have to be worth her time."

"Tell her that I am a contending makeup artist who has discovered the secret to her formula and that I declare her a charlatan. Make certain to mention vellatigen somewhere in the request. That's sure to catch her attention."

Mr. Ichiba said, "But if this isn't the Rani you knew, there could be trouble. Look at a picture and see if you recognize her."

"I doubt that would do any good. Remember that we are time travelers. This is the first planet I have ever visited outside of Gallifrey. I am a mere 21 of your years old. The Rani, on the other hand, may have been traveling for centuries. You see, we are long lived, but our bodies are not. When they grow weak, we survive by regenerating. She probably looks like a completely different person now, especially if hundreds of years have passed for her. No, I am afraid a confrontation is the only way to verify her identity. No matter, I am certain of it. The vellatigen is the smoking gun."


	8. Chapter 8

Reunion

The Doctor had been right. The Rani could not take a direct challenge lying down. He looked around the office he had been ordered to wait in. For the office of an executive for a cosmetics firm, it wasn't very fashionable, though he was no judge of fashion. The carpet was basic, dull brown, with no pad over a concrete floor. The chairs, were just as ordinary. The desk was heavy, reinforced metal, and army green. Indeed it appeared to be army surplus. The walls were bare, and stark white. The Doctor concluded that the office was not in use. The desk had nothing upon and the fact that there were no windows did not escape his attention.

The door opened and the young, well-groomed lady that had shown the Doctor here entered saying, "The director will see you now. Please follow me." The Doctor followed the woman out of the room and down a series of halls. The carpet never changed, and what doors were open showed offices that were nearly identical to the one he had left, all in various states of use and disuse.

Finally, he was led to a set of double doors, that opened into another waiting room. Why he hadn't been brought to this room was anybody's guess, but he did not ponder it. Being led through another set of doors, he found himself in a large office that clashed vehemently with the rest of the building. Plush purple carpet was on the floor and the wall was lined alternately by mirrors and poster sized photos of various women of all different ethnicity wearing different shades of makeup. The woman left the Doctor on his own and he found his way to another army desk, this one painted a violent shade of pink with splashes of green, yellow, and blue.

In high-back chair, behind a set of charts, a woman was seated. The Doctor saw her blonde hair. Putting the chart down, a woman with arresting green eyes peered at him. Was this the Rani, or a decoy to distract him from the real Rani? She was glamorously beautiful; of course, the Rani would settle for nothing less. The Doctor also noted that the woman wore no makeup. Her eyes pierced his. Was that recognition he saw in her gaze?

"So," she said, "you are the Doctor."

"And I presume you are the Rani?"

"'The' Rani? Just Rani."

"Forgive me. I knew another woman who went by that moniker."

"She must have been exceptional."

The Doctor smiled. "You can't imagine. Cleopatra's beauty could not compare, and her brilliance...stellar. She had but one flaw, one that I could not overlook: she had no empathy, no sense of right or wrong."

Rani gazed off into the distance, her expression vacant. "Was she that bad?"

"She was capable of anything. She once told me that morality was for the weak. She didn't understand why could not accept that philosophy. I wonder if she even understood the difference between right and wrong."

"And now you think I am a charlatan?"

The Doctor chuckled. "No, actually. That was just to get me in the door. I know what your makeup is. I know what it does. Now, I need to know why."

"It makes people beautiful. Is that not enough?"

"And what is the price of beauty, hum? Why do your little angels fall? Do you realize that when they die, their bodies are preserved perfectly? Those young ladies will never decay. Their bodies will be forever incorruptible. The few elderly who aren't harmed but experience a restoration of their youth couldn't possibly be the motive."

Rani grinned. It was an evil smile, a predatory smile, one that the Doctor had seen quite often. "Doctor, are you accusing me of something? You do realize what can happen if you don't have proof."

The Doctor was not so easily cornered. "I am certain you could accuse me of defamation, but that cannot undo what I have already shown the British army. I have shown them how to detect the vellatigen. Even if they found the source, they couldn't duplicate it, but the seeds will have been sown, now wouldn't they and they will know what you have done. So make your counter-accusations and dis-credit me. This is not about credit."

"Do you know what you have done?"

"Nothing significantly harmful to the humans...yet, but I will do what it takes to rescue them from you."

The Rani glared with indignity. If she could, she would have struck the Doctor dead on the spot. Looking at point behind the Doctor, Rani said, "I warned you that he was more clever than you gave him credit for. No, you wanted to go ahead with the meeting."

The Doctor, amused, turned around and found an elderly man sitting on a sofa against the wall. The Doctor was sure he wasn't there before. This man, though gray, heavily wrinkled and obviously decaying, stood and held himself with an elegance rarely seen of any man, young or old. He was dressed all in black and held a walking stick. He addressed Rani. "Indeed, you did. Time to end the charade. The Doctor obviously knows who you are, and I would recognize him anywhere. He was once Theta Sigma, but no more." The elderly man laughed gently. There was something barely perceptible in that laugh, something disturbing, touched with a bit of hysteria. "Doctor, would you like to know what we intend to do with the vellatigen?"

"I have already deduced it," said the Doctor.

"Have you now?"

"The vellatigen echo robs the women of their vitality, whilst you, at the source, can extract it and use it for your own serum. You are using it to create additional regenerations."

"Phenomenal. We have enough to last all three of us thousands of years, but we need to experiment first. A mind as brilliant as yours could go a long way to helping us achieve our goals. Rani, why are you shaking your head?"

The Rani said, "This man rejected my love for his desire to preserve life. Now you expect him to dive head deep in death?"

"Quite right," said the Doctor. "I am here to save lives, not to participate in their destruction." The Doctor stood and took a step towards the old man. "I feel like I should know you but I cannot place you."

"We were friends in the Academy. We virtually knew what the other was thinking at any given time."

The Doctor had only had one real friend. "No. He wouldn't be so cold...so callous."

"Time changes a man, Doctor. It changed me many times over and it will change you. I offer you a chance. The three of us together were always an unbeatable combination at the academy. You're brilliance, the Rani's focus, and my leadership inspired legends. It can be that way again."

"At the cost of how many lives?"

"Mere humans. Short lived, primitive, but if it bothers you, we can end it now. We have more than enough to bide our time until another way to rejuvenate ourselves is found."

The Doctor stepped forward until he could feel the old man's breath. "I can guess the name you chose for yourself. You always felt that you were the master of your destiny. So tell me, Master," he said the name with sharp emphasis, "how easy is it to kill? Is it just as easy to stop?"

"Doctor," said the Master, "we don't need to be enemies."

"I wish that were so," said the Doctor. He turned back to the Rani. "I wish it of both of you, but in you, I saw there was little hope of that." He turned back to the Master. "But in you, I saw pride, and dominance, and you were even a bit overbearing, but I never expected villainy...or madness." The Doctor knew full well at this point that these two would simply not let him leave, so he stepped to the door as he said, "I will play this game my way." He dashed out, lingering long enough to hear the Rani paging security.

Armed security guards patrolled the hallways, there orders: shoot to kill, but the Doctor had vanished. On their radios, they could hear Rani's rage. "What do you mean you can't find him? Where the hell could he have gone in fifteen seconds? Find him!"

The Doctor had stepped into one of the unused offices. There were so many of them. Of all of the offices that the Doctor ducked into, less than half of them were in use. Evading the security, the Doctor had been planning to escape, but then, as he went from corridor to corridor, from office to office, there was a blank point in space. Time Lord's were exceptionally aware of these things. The building had a significantly large gap in its floor layout. Evading security, he retraced his steps. No doors or missed alcoves turned into this unaccounted space, so the Doctor started looking for hidden doors. He ran his hands along the walls, keeping his ear also against the wall. Then he stopped at a grandfather clock, behind which came a breeze, a blast of air-conditioning.

Touching the grandfather clock, a jolt of energy shot through him, but he he was not startled. He merely smiled. "Well, a time capsule. I wonder which of them you belong to. No matter." He pushed the disguised time capsule aside, revealing a narrow doorway. "I have more important business to attend at the moment."

When security came into the office with the grandfather clock, it was already back in place, hiding the door. On the other side, a laboratory. This laboratory had no petri dishes, beakers, or test tubes. It had no heaters or distillers or other such alchemical equipment. The computers that lined the wall were of Gallifreyan design. Everything in the room was intended for one purpose: the containment and monitoring of the clear glass cylinder in the middle of the room. It glowed as brightly as a star. In the center of the glow, the Doctor had no doubt was the source vellatigen.

There was a breaker box on the wall. The Doctor opened it. There four 200 watt mains tied into a single circuit. The Doctor wondered about that. It was enough for this building but not for this Gallifreyan equipment. Then the Doctor saw the small capsule next to the box. "Ah, a power converter. Well, let us take you." He wrenched it from its mounts. The computers began to struggle to stay running. The Doctor threw all of the switches, pulled them all out and stuck them in his pockets, power converter as well. "That should put them in a snit." Every electric circuit died. The vellatigen began to glow more brightly, but the Doctor was unconcerned. It could no longer sustain itself in this world. The destruction it would wreak, while massive, would not be felt on Earth.

There was a trapdoor on the floor. The Doctor opened it and said, "A conveniently placed secret passage! How very considerate of them." Closing the door behind him, he looked up. "Tsk," he said, "they should know better than to put a lock on only one side." He reached up and turned the deadbolt. He reached the bottom of the ladder when he felt the explosion. The vellatigen detonated with such force that psychics across the would feel it and swear that some vast intelligence had contacted them. Normal humans would barely perceive it, though there might be a sudden global outbreak of tinnitus, though ear-ringing would hardly be noteworthy in any medical journal. To the Doctor, and probably to the Rani and the Master, it was deafening. After a moment, the Doctor regained his senses and continued down a tunnel that was roughly hewn from limestone, which opened into a massive sewage pipe.

As he climbed through a manhole, Captain Lethbridge-Stewart and some of his men ran up and helped him to his feet. "Doctor, what in the blazes happened? All of our surveillance equipment went absolutely haywire a few moments ago and half of our team developed sudden migraines."

The Doctor said, "An unintentional side effect. It will pass quite harmlessly. I fear that it was my doing. I found the source of the vellatigen and destroyed it."

"Destroyed it? Do you know how valuable that could have been?"

"Dangerous. My dear, Captain, in spite of everything, I find myself liking you. You are a man of authority, justice, and great intellect, but I cannot ignore the fact that you are still a primitive to whom I simply cannot risk handing the keys to time manipulation. No, my good, sir. No matter what, there are certain things that you must earn for yourselves and this is one of them. I cannot help you, and neither can anyone else. By insisting on this, I assure you that I've saved you no end of grief. The source is best destroyed, and the echoes of the source should have already dissipated. There will be no more deaths, at least not because of this."

The Captain sighed, then nodded. The Doctor was, of course, right. "Will they be able to make more?"

"Yes, but it will take so much time that it won't be practical, especially since they'll need to replace this." He pulled the power converter from his pocket.

"What is it?"

"A power converter, far more advanced than any you've ever seen. Gallifreyan computers don't run on simple electricity, and an entire power plant could not provide the necessary power. What this device does is converts the electricity into something Gallifreyan technology can use and then acts like a capacitor, storing and amplifying energy so that an insufficient amount becomes more than enough. They had an 800 watt main for just a single room, if you can believe it."

The Captain held the small device up and examined it. "I'm making a very bad habit of underestimating you, Doctor."

"No need to concern yourself. Not meaning to brag, but a man of my inestimable talents is virtually impossible to overestimate."

"Do we have the evidence we need?"

The Doctor pulled out a miniature tape recorder. "I doubt a human courtroom would believe much of what is on here, but the confession is unmistakeable." From another fold of his jacket, the Doctor pulled out several manila envelopes. His pockets seemed to have no end. "I also managed to acquire some notes on the purpose of Eden Cosmetics, written in the hand of an old friend of mine, one who now calls himself the Master."

"Nothing pretentious about that." The Captain raised a fist. He stared at the deceptively quiet office building. A man came up alongside the Captain. The Captain said, "Sergeant Benton, move our troops in."


	9. Chapter 9

The Report

Captain Lethbridge-Stewart sat in the office of the Brigadier, waiting patiently for his superior to return. A curious artifact caught his eye. Picking it up, he realized that it was music box. He opened the lid, not so much a busy-body as simply looking for something to quench his boredom. He heard a racket outside of the office and he rushed to return the music box where he put it, fumbling with the lid for a moment. When the door opened, he stood to full attention.

The Brigadier said, "Oh, rubbish, Alistair. There's nobody else here. Sit back down." The old Brigadier sat down behind his desk and took a beige file folder that was lying upon the desk. "Is this the report?"

"It is, sir."

The Brigadier looked over his glasses as he opened the folder. After several minutes, and several pages turned, he looked at the Captain and said, "The mysterious lab was completely destroyed when you found it?"

"Indeed it was."

"You have absolute confirmation that this company was complicit in the deaths of these girls?"

"We have the voice of the Rani and this mysterious Master trying to recruit the Doctor into their schemes. Their lack of regard for human life was shocking, to say the least."

"Yes, well the fact that the Doctor's actions seem to have, in fact, neutralized the deadly effects of the makeup will be a bit of an obstacle. That was quite a bit of evidence down the drain, mind you. Still, the other evidence you found is damning in and of itself. The Rani and the Master are still at large?"

"Missing without a trace."

The Brigadier folded up the report and put it in his file drawer. "Yes, well, they can't get far."

"I wonder."

The Brigadier rested his elbows upon his desk and frankly regarded Captain Lethbridge-Stewart. "I believe I told you yesterday that there was an important matter I wanted to discuss with you."

"Sir?"

"I am leaving the army, going to public service. You can see, after all, that I've more gray in my hair than black. I've been appointed Minister of foreign affairs."

"Congratulations, Sir!"

The Brigadier continued as if he hadn't heard. "I'm sure you realizes that means that that leaves a void in the current chain of command."

"Naturally, Colonel Paulson will take your place here."

"No. This is part of an entire division reassignment. Colonel-Paulson is joining me on my staff." The Brigadier rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Major Nelson is an experienced soldier but he doesn't have your record. Originally, it was intended that you be promoted to Lieutenant-Colonel over Nelson, while another officer took command here."

"Originally? What's changed?"

"This Doctor business." His eyes widened seriously, his jaw set in a grimace. "The Ministry have learned of this Doctor's fantastic claims, and have seen the confirming evidence for themselves. They aren't entirely certain of his claims, but they are forming a division whose individual purpose is to determine the validity of these claims and ascertain the 'extra-terrestrial' threat."

"They're taking this seriously."

"They wouldn't have, except the makeup murders were as widespread as the Doctor claims, and there was a small amount of elderly people who did in fact use the cosmetic and experienced a miracle. The Doctor's story correlates, and the Rani's apparent guilt is doubly disturbing. You took it seriously enough to open a full investigation. Now the Ministry is taking it seriously and they've pulled a few strings. You now officially hold the rank of Brigadier. You are in command of this new division they are assembling. It is being called His Majesties International Taskforce."

Alistair's jaw dropped. He seemed completely unaware that he was gaping but this turn of events defied reason. "How can I simply skip three rank assignments like that?"

"You're record is stellar, your men trust you, and most importantly, you now have first-hand experience with a possible alien menace, and there simply aren't many qualified soldiers for the job. There were a few of higher rank they considered promoting to the position, but your experience won out."

"Experience?" Absolutely absurd. "I raided a makeup factory! That hardly qualifies as an alien menace."

"You are one of several men who witnessed as the Doctor miraculously saved the life of Ozma Ichiba. Part of your experience makes you open to ideas that other men would be so open to. Wouldn't you agree?"

Alistair cast about, looking for...he didn't know what. "Captains don't just get promoted to Brigadier."

"Do you think you haven't earned the rank? Your service in Malaysia, rising through the ranks, distinguishing yourself at every turn has attracted the attention of the King, of Parliament, the Ministry, my own reports of your service under me are no less glowing. Alistair, people receive things that they don't always feel they are entitled to. If our superiors have made the wrong decision, you will show it soon enough, but I don't think they have."

Alistair gazed out a window into the streets of London. He wondered what fortune had brought about this improbability. "When do I leave?"

"Your current assignment is to finish your current investigation. Work with Ozma and the Doctor to ascertain the whereabouts of the Rani and the Master, and apprehend them."

Alistair nodded sternly and stood. "If that is all, Sir."

"It is. Congratulations, Brigadier."

Three ranks skipped by? Nothing was bloody earned. Some backdoor politics had been at work. Alistair didn't like riding anyone's coat-tails. It made him feel weak. Still, he knew the point his old superior was making. Alistair had made many impressions, and there were many who were eager to see him succeed. It was likely nothing more sinister than that. Very well. He'd distinguished himself before. He'd simply keep doing it, now as a brigadier. Still, it bothered him, and he decided it might satisfy a bit of his curiosity by checking his rank assignment over the past. This new rank felt as if it had been purchased and he felt compelled to vindicate his-self.

Meanwhile, the Doctor avidly pursued any clue as to the whereabouts of the Rani and the Master. He sat in his time capsule, still comfortable in the belief that none but Ozma knew the true nature of the out-of-order police box down the street. Ozma was with him, a constant companion, resourceful, and if the Doctor were willing to admit it, charming. Now, she asked him a blitz of questions. About his world, what kind of customs they had, and the extent of their technology. The Doctor made tantalizing allusions to the nature of his world, but always strictly avoided telling her anything that could alter a human's perception of the universe. She had already expressed an interest in traveling with him. After all, if he could travel through time, couldn't he bring her back at any time?

The notion! He could, but what was the risk involved? This was time travel. Had she no notion of what she asked? Then came the the question that raised more questions. "So, how will you follow the Master and the Rani?"

The Doctor glanced up into her serene face. He knew his expression was consistently stern, but she never reacted to it. She was always as friendly as if they were simply having a polite conversation over tea and biscuits. The Doctor had grown to like the quaint drink and the little sweet wafers that were often served with it. "For the moment there is no need to follow them anywhere. Their time capsules are well hidden, but they've not left. This girl can see that much."

"Oh." She sounded disappointed. The Doctor knew; Ozma had hoped to be part of a great chase through time and space.

She had asked him, "What could it harm?"

What could it harm? It was beyond primitive human experience. Who knew what she would learn, do, or see? What could she change? What could she not change? The Doctor was confident that he could keep her from altering key events in the past, but what about now, in 1961? What could it harm? He didn't know. That was the greatest danger of all. Still, he did owe her a debt of gratitude for his name, for he did not consider saving her life a favor. He considered it his duty as a being of moral character: nothing to be thanked for. After he had found the Master and the Rani, one trip couldn't hurt.

To the task of finding his rivals. He had expected no less than villainy from the Rani, though to see it first hand still made him sore at hearts. The Master was what shocked him, and he wasn't sure why? Had the dark ambition in the Master's heart not always been apparent? The Doctor realized that if he was honest with himself, he knew his friend for what he truly was. He had simply blinded himself to that fact. That was the most heartbreaking of all.

The fact that the Master and the Rani had not fled the Earth disturbed the Doctor. The vellatigen had been destroyed. His examinations of the cosmetics confirmed that much, but there had be something else. There had been extraction equipment in that lab. Obviously, they extracted and gathered whatever energy the human vitality produced in the vellatigen source. Surely, they had labs in their respective time ships that could provide them with the research and results they needed.

Before they had put the makeup on the market, they had to have a group of testers, people who would try the makeup. Illness and death were not immediate results of the makeup. That much was clear. If they had the vitality they needed...then it struck the Doctor. The dead victims of the Eden makeup were incorruptible. Their bodies would remain as if they were still alive. There was something in the living, or dead tissue, that they needed.

"Ozma," said the Doctor, "quickly. Can you discover where the bulk of the Eden line was sold?"

Ozma said, "My father was going to buy stock in the company. Paris was their biggest market."

The Doctor stood abruptly. "We'll need the assistance of the Captain once more, unless you have an address for Eden in Paris..."

"I don't..."

"...Unless..." The Doctor closely scrutinized his control panel. Yes, the energy signature of the other two time ships may not have left Earth, but they went somewhere. "Tell me, do you fancy a trip to Paris?"

Ozma's eyes lit up. "Would I?" She stood abruptly. "To the City of Lights? Where Mona Lisa waits in the Louvre, and where the Eiffel Tower watches over le Champs Elysee?"

"I wouldn't know. I know so little about this world, but I take it you know something of Paris." The Doctor placed his hand upon the dematerialization dial and said, "It couldn't hurt to take a look, and if we find anything of interest, we could always come back and alert the Captain."

The room suddenly dimmed and the time ship shuddered. The grating sound of time scrapped through Ozma's and the Doctor's ears. The time rotor in the middle of the console began to steadily move up and down. Then, it all stopped at once. When they stepped outside, the Doctor and Ozma turned around. Ozma thought it would be quaint to see an English phone booth in Paris, but she was disappointed. Instead of a police box, they had stepped out of the pedestal of a statue. It was lithe young woman in chain mail with a sword held high. The time capsule had become a statue of Joan of Arc.

"It changed!" said Ozma, her surprise apparent. "How on Earth did it do that?"

"It disguises itself, my dear. It has what is called a chameleon circuit. It blends in with its surroundings. If it didn't change, it would run a small risk of causing an anachronistic disturbance."

"'Anachronistic disturbance'?"

"Yes. Simply put, and anachronistic disturbance is an object displaced in time. For example, if we visited Ancient Greece and had a chat with Socrates, well, we couldn't very well arrive in a police box, now could we? Image if someone drew it and the drawing were discovered now. It's not as serious as a paradox, but it would be a puzzler that would make scientists scratch their heads; think of things that they might not have thought of had the anachronism not occurred."

"Why do you think the risk is small?"

"Well, the chameleon circuit isn't the only thing hiding the time capsule. It has perception filter generating an SEP field. People don't notice it because they are made to think it is not important."

"SEP? What does that stand for?"

"Someone Else's Problem."

Ozma giggled. "Another euphemistic scientific term? Your people are quite whimsical."

"Yes, they believe in naming things for what they do, and not because the name sounds fancy."

"Which is why your ship is called a Time And Relative Dimension In Space Temporal Transport Type 40?"

The Doctor looked at her searchingly. "You remembered all of that quite well."

Ozma raised a single eyebrow. "I believe we were trying to locate the Master and the Rani?"

The Doctor took a quick look around. They were in a small part near a group of apartments. Arm in arm, the Doctor and Ozma began their search for the two most dangerous people on Earth.


	10. Chapter 10

Diplomatic Detente

Ozma and the Doctor walked down le Champs Elysees, passing vendors, entertainers, and artists hard at work peddling their wares. Along this boulevard were famed cafes and bistros, restaurants and galleries, clothing stores and boutiques, and there, beyond the walkway was the Seine, and towering in the distance was the Arc de Triumphe. Ozma, for her part, was beside herself, here in the city of love. She had always wanted to come here, always wanted to gaze upon this ancient city. They passed musicians strumming guitars, mandolins, and playing violins, and singing. Upon one corner there was an accordion player lacking in talent. A woman was singing along next to him, her voice immensely better, a group of tourists flocking to hear her in spite of the lousy accordion accompaniment.

"En la coeur du Paris,

Je vie.

Dans les rues de Paris,

J'adore.

Je vie en le coeur de le coeur de le monde.

O Paris, ma Paris,

Je t'aime."

The Doctor watched her with wonder. "Marvelous," he said. "You humans have such an imaginative flair."

The woman singing shot a brief, murderous look at the accordion player, resumed her cheerful demeanor and continued her performance. It must have been her husband, otherwise she likely wouldn't have put up with him. The Doctor pulled a device from his coat. It was a simple fob watch set into a series of springs that connected to a tuning fork. Ozma realized that it was something the Doctor had put together in his spare time and asked what it was for.

"This?" The Doctor looked down at the device, and back to her. "This, my dear, helps me to detect chronons."

"Chronons?"

"The most common particle of time travel. Anyone who travels through time, even just a few seconds, becomes permanently infused with chronon particles. It is a very subtle, imperceptible change in your basic nature. It's quite harmless, but beings that are attuned to such things will forever recognize you as a time traveler once you have been exposed to chronons."

"Have I been?"

"Certainly. We may not have traveled through time, but my ship is the ultimate expression of time. Think on it. It is bigger on the inside than out. Is not the simple act of passing through the door an experience of passing through manipulated time?"

Ozma nodded, then looked back to the device. "How does it work?"

"Hmm?" The Doctor held the device up. "I point the device away from us to avoid a false reading. When chronons interact with it, the tuning bar resonates, and the springs vibrate accordingly. The fob watch, being of Gallifrey manufacture, responds to the vibrations and becomes confused. It literally reads other times. The stronger the effect, the closer we are to the source."

The tuning fork began to whine and the Doctor, taking his attention from the attractions of the Champs Elysees, followed the intensity of the intonation. Soon enough they passed the Arc de Triumphe, and found themselves wandering the streets of Paris, eventually finding themselves in rather questionable areas. It seemed strange that the glamorous Rani could found in such blighted areas. Not paying real attention to where their device was taking them, the found themselves at a police station, "Surete" stenciled in black letters above the otherwise ordinary doorway. In fact, it might have been any apartment, but when they entered, they found themselves in a typical office with a single desk and officer behind.

"Oui, monsieur et ma'amselle?" he asked without looking up from his gazette. The Doctor didn't seem to hear him. He followed the whine to a locked door. The officer spoke again, bemused. "Monsieur, q'est-ce que c'est?"

The Doctor turned and absent-mindedly asked, "I'm sorry, my mind must be elsewhere. Did you say something?"

If the officer was perturbed to have to speak English, he didn't show it. In fact, to Ozma, he seemed to be speaking with a Japanese accent when he said, "Sir, what can I do for you?"

"Indeed. I am searching for a very dangerous woman. She has been killing people by poisoning their makeup with...ahh...a certain type of radioactive isotope. This device-I made it in a bit of a hurry, mind you-is designed to home in on that particular isotope. It is through this door. I'm quite certain of it."

The officer looked suspiciously at the Doctor. He was clearly incredulous, but he had heard something like this before. "How do you know you are following the right trail?"

"This isotope is extremely rare. It can only exist in a handful of places, and certainly not in populated city."

The officer didn't seem to be buying it. It was amazing he hadn't already chucked them both out as crackpots. Still, he continued to humor the Doctor. "What is this killer's name?"

"She calls herself the Rani."

The officer blinked in mild surprise. Yes, he had heard this before. He picked up his phone and dialed two digits. He explained everything the Doctor said. While he spoke, Ozma went to the Doctor and spoke in undertones.

"Doctor, how come he is speaking English with a Japanese accent?"

The Doctor said, "My dear, he is not speaking English at all. He is speaking French. It is an effect of my ship. It helps us all to understand one another."

"Then why have I only been hearing French up until now, and why don't I just hear Japanese?"

The Doctor smiled. "My dear, you hear French because that is what you want to hear. You hear English instead of Japanese because you deem English more important."

"More important?"

"Ozma, you were raised speaking your native tongue, but unless I am very much mistaken, your country impresses the need to learn English a great deal, your father, being a diplomat even more so, because your people believe the language to be crucial to commerce with the rest of the world. You deem English more important because you have been raised with a sense of diplomacy and English is the most commonly spoken language in the diplomatic and financial world. There's a very strong chance our friend here speaks English."

The Doctor gestured to the officer. At that moment, the officer put down the phone and told them. "Detective Beart wants to speak to you. Go on through and wait for him in the chairs next to the door."

The officer pressed a button next to him and a loud buzzer sounded. The Doctor and Ozma pushed their way through the door, which closed behind them with a loud click. They found themselves in a hallway, three doors lining one side and the single door on the other side. Harsh fluorescent lights glared above them and ordinary white linoleum tiled the floor. Next to the buzzer door, there was a row of hard wooden folding chairs by the door. They opted to stand. Fortunately, they did not wait long. A rotund man in a suit exited the last door wearing a brown, pinstriped, three piece suit with the jacket unbuttoned. He had a large red nose and a receding hairline.

He introduced himself as Detective Jean-Paul Beart. "I understand you have may have some information regarding a case I am working on."

"Yes, I am the Doctor, and this is my assistant, Ozma. I assume you are investigating a rash of mysterious deaths."

Beart eyed them suspiciously and in a bored tone, he said, "In a manner of speaking. Another department is handling that, but I have been made to question witnesses that are obviously crackpots, in particular, a young foreign girl who was at the scene of one of the deaths. She was dismissed days ago, deemed not credible, but she has made herself a nuisance to the department, and I have been assigned to have a psychiatrist evaluate her. We were going to commit her, but it has proven difficult. She seems to be mentally sound and is not a threat to anyone. Now, it seems you are corroborating her story. Obviously, I find this annoying and absurd, but I must check it."

So the Doctor and Ozma, without giving too many details, told them what had happened in England, making it clear that Rani had made her culpability well known.

"Merde..." said Detective Beart. "Come with me." As they walked, he explained that this was not a proper department. "This is just a simple office where we can take local complaints, and respond quickly to local calls. We have two holding cells downstairs, but they are never occupied for longer than it takes to transfer a suspect to the city jail's holding cells. We have no dangerous criminals being processed here so there is nothing for you to concern yourselves over."

He led them to a small room where a stunningly beautiful young woman was waiting patiently. Ozma looked and recognized none of the clothes she was wearing, though they all appeared to be in Dior's style. Detective Beart confirmed it when he said, "This is Carla Rimbaldo, a fashion model working for Christian Dior when she saw a co-worker fall dead." He turned to her. "You are in luck. These two seem to be saying the same absurdities. The surete might now take you seriously. Please, you seem such a nice young girl. Forget this before your insistence causes you any more trouble."

The Doctor said, "Please, may we talk to her."

"I am going to take your statement."

The Doctor smiled. "I have known Rani for a very long time. I can assure you, she will not be outwitted by police. She is a genius and a mad scientist and has more escape routes than you can fathom. Please let me speak to her. I know what I am looking for." Beart sighed and gestured to Carla. The Doctor introduced himself and Ozma, and Carla stood and observed her closely.

She said, "I've been trying to save up for that outfit for months." Ozma decided that Carla must have been speaking English because she had a thick Italian accent.

Ozma shook her head. "You're a model. Can't you just-"

"If Dior made that dress and shirt, I could, but he doesn't and I don't work for Versace, but I might later. By then, who knows. After this, I might be just happy to get any work I can find. Is that a real Chanel handbag?"

"I have four of them. Help us out and you can have this one."

Carla's eyes widened. "Oh, I couldn't."

"I have a closet full of purses. Dad always gets me one for my birthday. Gucci, Givenchy, Prada...Trust me. I won't miss this one."

The Doctor said, "Oh, time enough for this later. Please, I need to know what the Rani did. How did that young girl die, and what did the Rani have to do with it?"

Carla told them of the fashion show and the Rani's predatory way of addressing people. This hadn't surprised the Doctor, as he had seen the same smile from Rani on many occasions. When she told them of the Rani's reaction to Jennifer Thilmony's death, the Doctor nodded as if he were noting the peculiar effect of a lab experiment. "Naturally," said Carla, "I cleaned the makeup off my face as soon as I could. They said there was nothing wrong with the makeup. How could that be? If you had seen through my eyes, you would not think the makeup was normal. The last day of the show, they said I had to wear the makeup. I said I would not and they did not argue. I walked on the runway without makeup and Gianni Versace asked about me. Three nights in a row. I was a hit. I do not need that woman's makeup. When the party ended, Rani, she came to me and she said she would...wrap? Wreck? Ruin! She said she would ruin me if I told anyone about my eyes. Nobody takes me seriously. I do not imagine this! So now is the first time I tell anyone how the makeup made me see things I never saw before."

The Doctor said, "Well, I think you will find that if your family has a history of poor eyesight, you no longer have to worry about it. The substance makeup heals unhealthy tissue and destroys healthy tissue."

"Absurd," said Beart.

"My good man, what do you have against the idea of a megalomaniac selling a product that perniciously kills anyone that uses it? Consumer goods deliberately contaminated? Surely it's happened before. Why can't it happen now?"

"We tested the makeup. Everything in it was harmless."

The Doctor scoffed. "You can't have tested it to thoroughly. You would have found at least one substance that you cannot identify."

"It didn't conform to any known harmful contaminants."

"Check more thoroughly and you will find that it conforms to nothing on Earth."

"What do you mean? Little green men are killing women with tainted makeup."

The Doctor decided not to tell this man the truth about the velletigen or about his origins. He came up with a simpler explanation for where the Rani came from. "No. I am telling you that the Rani is a genius, a mad scientist that believes she is destined to be a god. She believes she can achieve immortality."

"That's insane!"

"I suppose that depends on how brilliant she is, but I would tend to agree with you."

Beart pounded the wall and said, "I mean you! You are casting these absurd accusations and flouting these ridiculous theories about a woman you have never even met."

The Doctor appeared taken aback. "Never even met? Detective, I grew up with her. I went to school with her. We were almost...we were very close. I assure you, she values only power and life has no value to her. She will take what she wants, whatever the cost, without conscience. Besides which, she has already tried to recruit me in this scheme."

Beart waved his hand in dismissal. "Rubbish, you will say anything to be believed."

The Doctor drew himself up. "So be it. I do not need your help. I can find the Rani on my own."

"No, you will all be staying here. It's clear to me now that you are all a danger to this woman, who does not need problems with stalkers and harassment. You are all detained on charges of obstruction and will be held for full mental evaluation."

Ozma opened her purse and drew out a wallet, which she pulled a folded card from. "You do not have the authority. My father has business dealings in southern France and I am authorized to go here."

The Doctor said, "I thought you said you have never been here."

As Beart took the card and examined it, Ozma crossed her arms and said, "I haven't, but my father travels all over Europe. He got papers for me, too."

Beart's face turned red, "Diplomatic immunity? But...that is..." He stalked over to a desk and picked up the telephone receiver. He looked on the card and dialed a telephone number. After a moment, he said, "Yes, Paris, France. I need to confirm the information on an I. D. card." After another moment, Beart recited Ozma's full name, her vital statistics and the card's number. His face became an emotionless mask. "She is? I see. Yes. I see. She can." He hung up the phone. He turned to Ozma and said, "I suppose this Doctor is part of your envoy while traveling in our country."

Ozma, quite proud of herself, said, "He is. I would also like Carla Rimbaldo to join my envoy."

"Which would extend your immunity to both of them." Beart leaned with his fists against the top of his desk. "Very well. I cannot arrest you, but be very careful. Just because I cannot arrest you does not mean that I cannot eject you. We will be watching and if you cause any trouble, consider yourselves ejected." He put a nasty emphasis on the last word. "Now, get out. All of you. Allons!"

As they exited the building together, Carla said, "Thank you, both. I didn't think they'd ever let me go."

Ozma said, "A bunch of bullies. Imagine punishing people just for telling the truth."

The Doctor said, "An excellent use of resources, though detente usually isn't supposed to result in aggravating the local law enforcement officers."

"Well then, call it gunboat diplomacy." Ozma stopped once she reached the sidewalk. "Exactly what did we accomplish here, Doctor? We still have no idea where the Rani will be, and what about the Master?"

"We will simply have to keep searching."

Carla said, "But Rani has an office just down the street from here."

The Doctor turned in surprise. "She does? Oh, dear. She may have another source!"

"I can show you the way."

"I've had an idea. I may have a way of forcing the Rani's hand, but I'll need to gather some materials. We need to go back to the ship first."

Fusion

The Doctor only spent a few minutes at the time ship. Carla was not allowed in, leaving Ozma to explain that the Doctor was very secretive. He emerged from the base of the Joan of Arc statue and announced that he was ready. They didn't have far to go as Eden's Parisian office was on this side of the Champs Elysees. Just as the English office had been, this one was quite large and located in a business district. There was stencil upon the door reading "Eden" with no other information, not even an address. They tried the door and found that it was locked.

The Doctor massaged his temples and said, "I really had no desire to use this...device, but I suppose the situation calls. Very well." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out an object like a large pen. He held the end to the door lock and there was high pitched sound followed by a click. The Doctor put the device away and pushed the door open. "There we are. Easy as."

"What was that?" asked Ozma.

"Oh, a simple tool. It creates sonic resonance that, if set to the proper frequency, can cause a vibration in virtually any device with moving components. I try not to use it. It eliminates a great deal of challenge. It's as if I'm cheating."

The building didn't have an alarm, which seemed odd for a business, but there was nothing there except a desk covered with dust. The room was also covered in a thick padded carpet that had become discolored from the dust. The sun had fallen low and now shined directly in through the windows. There were imprints upon the carpets, spaced as foot prints, but they looked odd until all three of them realized that the foot prints, a large triangle and a tiny circle, were from high heels. They followed the footprints to a metal door. Opening it, they found themselves in a concrete stairwell. No dust, no footprints. Stairs lead up for four stories, but they led down for what seemed three times that far.

"What building needs to be excavated so deeply?" asked the Doctor. He once more took his makeshift chronon detector from his pocket and followed the intensity of the whine. "Down we go."

After going down four flights, the chronon detector seemed to weaken as they approached the fifth flight, so the Doctor exited on this level. Carla stopped and took her shoes off, which were high heel, and muttered that her feet were killing her.

The Doctor said, "Perhaps next time you'll wear something a bit more practical."

Now, they all took in their surroundings and to say that the corridor they were in was long was an understatement. "Look at how far it goes," said Ozma.

"Curious." The Doctor held the front of his chin, deep in thought. "From I've noted, the Rani has a rather small operation, but why then does she need such large facilities and I believe that she has indicated that her facilities aren't large enough?" They walked down the corridor, looking into random rooms. "Just as in her other facility. This is mostly empty offices. Yet she claims her buildings are too small." Then the Doctor stopped as if something had just occurred to him. "And in the previous building, there seemed the beginnings of underground passages, and this building has clearly been excavated some distance underground."

"Doctor!" Ozma called.

The Doctor and Carla both turned, not having realized that Ozma had fallen behind. She was staring into one of the offices.

"You should see this."

All three ventured into a room significantly larger than the other offices. This was a storage room and was filled with nearly a hundred boxes, all of them six feet long and two feet wide. They were white with labels that read, "Eden Cosmetics, Security Department."

"I wonder what's in here," said Ozma.

Carla was wide-eyed, unsettled. "They look like coffins."

They approached a container that had been left on floor. The each tried to open it, but it was sealed. Ozma found catches on one side and unlocked it. It opened on hinges. What they saw inside chilled each of them.

"Jennifer," Carla gasped, horrified.

Indeed, inside the container was a young girl about Carla's age, her eyes closed with a smattering of freckles on her cheeks and across her nose. Carla remembered how Jennifer's face had been absolutely covered with freckles. Now, she was the exact image that Rani had left her, only a few freckles, "strategically placed," and she was still quite dead. She was even wearing the outfit for the fashion show. Carla impulsively reached down and held Jennifer's hand, a young girl that she had only known a few minutes and exchanged a few words with. She had had such a profound impact on Carla, that she felt as if this was her dearest friend. The hand was colder than any living hand, but it wasn't stiff. If Jennifer was dead, her hand should be stiff.

As if reading Carla's mind, the Doctor said, "Forever frozen at the exact moment of death. Frozen in time. Not even the sun's eventual expansion and incineration of this planet will harm her. She is truly incorruptible." He looked around the room. "They all are."

"Eternally frozen and eternally beautiful."

The Doctor, Ozma, and Carla turned at the sound of the voice. The Rani was there with a team of security guards. The Doctor didn't seem surprised, but his anger was apparent.

He took a step forward, ignoring the guard's reactions. "Frozen between life and death, with no hope of release, a sort of limbo. I see it now. You use their life essences to give you and the Master eternal life, and your victims serve as an invincible army of soulless automatons. You don't need many. Trapped in time, they are quite indestructible. A hundred or so is all you need. All of your victims."

"Thousands actually. Those mysterious deaths only started being tallied when coroners began to realize there was a pattern, but Doctor, I've been doing this for years, and before then, I perfected the technique on other worlds across time, and I built an army for Gallifrey. Lord Rassilon was most pleased, but sadly, he died shortly after, or so the rumors say. You really should have stuck around. A lot of very interesting things happened after you left. Rassilon built his tomb in the Death Zone and disappeared there. He always was a bit macabre."

The Rani walked over to the casket, drawing a dagger and turned to face the three again. "You should have accepted my offer, Doctor. With my genius, I'm sure I could have discovered a way to break the Pythia's curse. Imagine: children born the natural way, no more looms."

The Doctor raised a single finger, a shrewd smile gradually turning upon his lips. "You've been banished, haven't you?"

The Rani's face soured. "You would have been pleased. The Lord President spent much of the hearing questioning my ethics. He seemed to think my experiments were immoral. I don't actually know what my punishment was. I didn't stay long enough to find out. I left in rather a hurry."

"What exactly did you do?"

"It's none of your concern."

"It must have been embarrassing."

"Nothing that warranted such judgment from the Time Council. I just used a growth hormone on some rats. I didn't think it would work so well, and I certainly didn't think one of my rivals would set them loose." The Rani clenched her fists. "Enough! You're trying to create a diversion." She raised her dagger and plunged it into Jennifer's chest. "Indestructible, just as you say."

To everyone's horror, including the guards, Jennifer stood. Her eyes opened, but they were as unseeing as death. She looked down at her chest in confusion and pulled the dagger from her chest. Blood oozed from the wound but stopped quickly, and mere seconds later, it had completely sealed. It seemed that the moment Rani stabbed Jennifer, a switch had been thrown. The other coffins began to shake violently. The guards ran first. The Doctor grabbed Ozma and Carla, who were paralyzed with fear, under the arms and dragged them bodily from the room.

The Rani called after them, "You should have accepted my offer, Doctor! We could have been husband and wife, Gods of Time. Too late, Doctor! Too late!"

Once they had put some distance between them and the Rani's army, Ozma said, "Am I imagining things or did that woman just conjure an army of zombies?"

The Doctor said, "They are a type of chronovore. The Rani used the velletigen, the only physical substance of time, in her makeup. In other words, those girls were killed with time itself. They're completely gone; dead, beyond hope, but the bodies and what remains of the mind is frozen in that place between life and death. An new, primitive consciousness, cobbled together from the body's natural instinct and the remnants of their living mind arises, but one that is so rudimentary, it can only comprehend its most basic needs, and they need a steady flow of energy from time to survive."

"They feed on time?" asked Carla, bewildered. "How?"

"Every living thing, you, me, Ozma, the guards, we exist in time. Time flows around us. I travel through time, so the energies of time flow quite a bit more abundantly around me. If one of us were to die prematurely, the time around us would have to compensate its flow. Instead of righting itself, these girls would consume it, and in doing so, maintain their strength."

Ozma said, "They're like vampires, not zombies."

"Vampires are a fair comparison except that they can think for themselves. I'm not sure what zombies are."

Ozma pointed down the corridor and everyone turned to see a group of the chronivorous girls come around the corner.

The Doctor said, "Ozma, you seem surprisingly calm."

"I'm being chased by a group of fashion forward vampires who want to suck the life out of me. It's just like high school."

They all ran and were soon stopped by two guards holding M1 carbines to them. One of the creatures burst from a side door and attacked the guards. One opened fire on her, but she didn't even seem to notice the softball sized holes that were being shot in her, and were healing instantly. She wrapped her arms around one of the guards. This seemed to be all that was necessary to make him seemingly dissolve into nothing, screaming in obvious pain. Seconds later, the other guard, now out of ammunition, met the same fate. The Doctor, Ozma, and Carla darted around her and continued running.

"How did they get throughout the building so quickly?" asked Carla.

Ozma said, "There had to be more than one storage room full of them. They must be everywhere."

The Doctor said, "Now I understand why they need so much space. Put them in close quarters and they may feed off each other. They couldn't each others, but they could weaken some of their numbers. Now that they've been awakened, they'll need each room."

"How is the Rani controlling them?"

The Doctor laughed. "Isn't that obvious? She's a Time Lord! She has an endless supply of chronons to feed them and assure their obedience."

They finally found a set of steel double doors at the end of a passage. Walking through, they found themselves in a lab virtually identical to the one that the Doctor found in England, except much bigger and in a pit with a cylinder that contained what could only have been a velletigen source, a power plant channeling enough energy for the looms of Gallifrey. Turning, as if he had just noticed them was the Master. Flanking him on either side were two of Rani's makeup victims...chronovores, as the Doctor called them. One of them was Jennifer.

The chronovores moved to attack, but the Master said, "Now, now; none of that." He held up a small cylindrical tube and pressed something on the side. A vapor rose into the air and was drawn to the chronovores. Both of them stopped, looks of ecstasy washing over them.

Carla held her hand out as if to touch Jennifer. The Master said, "Oh, I wouldn't do that. Now that she's active, she'll absorb you, utterly." Carla pulled her hand back. The Master turned to the Doctor. "Of course, my old friend, it's perfectly safe for us. We are Time Lords, after all."

"Ah," said the Doctor, "but you seem to have no time spare. You wouldn't want to lose what precious little you have left on these poor creatures that are little more than automatons."

"Ah, but thanks to these poor creatures, I shall have the secret of immortality. We have found that as chronovores, they provide unlimited vitality. I could restore all of my regenerations, and have as many more as I like."

The Rani entered from another door, more girls guarding her. "Just think, Doctor. We'll conquer the world and become truly immortal. We'll rule as gods and expand across the universe. One day, Gallifrey could fall before us. This is your last chance, Doctor. Join us. Even these two you're running around with; they're more clever than typical humans. Carla saw me for what I was right away." She addressed Carla and Ozma. "Think on it, girls. You could live forever, as beautiful as you are now. Ozma, you've nearly turned meta-crisis. You're already primed to become one of us."

The Doctor said, "It seems that the Rani now believes her own press releases. Dear me, what will become of Eden." As he spoke, the Doctor slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small metal square. Contained with the square was two glass tubes, the device having been designed to hold volatile materials. "I would never participate in any activity that murders people and enslaves their bodies." He held up the container. "Which is why I've brought chronons and rassilonion from my ship." The chronovores swirled with chronons, but they were no threat to the velletigen. It was the contained chronons and rassilonion that would do the job.

The Master stepped forward. "Don't be a fool. What you are threatening isn't the same as simply cutting power to the velletigen core. You're talking about reuniting the velletigen with the chronon time particle and the rassilonion time ion. The explosion will be felt in this dimension too."

Carla said, with a surprising amount of anger in her voice. "Yes, and we'll die making sure nobody else has to end up...like this." She gestured at Jennifer. "Please Jennifer. Something of you has to be left in there. Please help us. Look what they've done to you. Do you really want to help them?"

"Silence, girl," said the Master. "There's nothing left to hear you. You may as well appeal to a brick wall for all the good it will do."

The Rani turned to the Doctor. "You can join us and become a god, or you can use your trinket and we can all die together."

The Doctor kept his eyes trained on the Master and the Rani. "Yes, if I release these, the core will explode and lives will be saved. I suppose that makes my choice rather straight forward." The Doctor opened the catch release and threw the container directly into the core. It shattered on impact. Seconds later, the core cracked.


	11. Chapter 11

Beauty and the Rani

The Rani and the Master each ran to the pit. Velletigen began to leak out of the core and enter the room as it joined with the two other elements of time. While their attention was turned, the Doctor, Ozma, and Carla turned to escape, only to find the doors closed. When they tried them, they found them locked.

"What did you hope to accomplish, Doctor?" said the Rani. "Time will expand outward and I can control its flow."

The Doctor said, "Then it's a good thing I'm here to stop you."

"My girls can't kill you, but they can certainly kill your companions. You'll do nothing to interfere, or they'll pay for it." The Rani turned back to her work, and sure enough, the velletigen was stabilizing, the crack shrinking as time around the core turned back. "Doctor, you're a blessing in disguise. I can control all of time. I can take all time periods at once and the Master and I need not even replenish our regenerations to achieve immortality. We can be any age we desire...forever."

"We are Time Lords! We have a responsibility not to abuse time. Are you so deluded by your lunacy that you believe that Gallifrey can't stop you? My dear, our society was founded on reshaping time at a whim."

The Master turned to the Doctor and said, "Yes, and so will ours. We'll make a new Gallifrey; a better Gallifrey. One that hasn't forgotten its greatness."

Carla moved closer to Jennifer. "Jennifer, I only knew you for a few minutes. You have no reason to listen or even to trust me, but these people, this woman; she is the one that did this to you. I know I liked you. I had hoped we could even be friends and she took you without a second thought. You were a delightful person and she ended your life before it even began. Please...please don't let her get away with it."

Ozma gripped Carla's arm and said, "She can't hear you."

"I've contained it!" The Rani's declaration reverberated throughout the room.

Indeed, the crack was gone and now the whole of time was represented in that one space. The Doctor could see the vortex beginning to form, if it wasn't stopped soon, it would create a rupture in the fabric of time and space. The Doctor now realized his mistake. Even worse, he had brought the Hand of Omega on his ship. It would be drawn to this place. It could even already be here. Foolish! He knew he should have seen to its security before embarking on this ridiculous adventure. He had seen first hand how fragile humans were, how much damage could be done to their society.

He had been a fool. He freely spoke of his reality, of who and what he was, of where he came from, and now, because of him, these two renegade Time Lords had managed to create an untempered schism underneath Paris. If they came into possession of the Hand of Omega, they would have all they needed to create an Eye of Harmony, and the new Gallifrey they were raving about could become a reality. The scope of the Master's and the Rani's ambition was now apparent. The Doctor sensed the Hand of Omega near. It had entered the building and was wending its way through the corridors. It would be here soon.

The Rani turned to the Doctor and said, "Thank you, Doctor. You've given us more than we could have hoped for. It's a shame you couldn't join us. We really would have spared these two. As it is, kill them." This last statement was directed at the chronovore guards.

One advanced upon the Doctor, Ozma, and Carla, but Jennifer didn't seem to hear the Rani. They all ducked the chronovore. She had all of the speed and dexterity of a living girl, but with her mind in ruins, she didn't have a very good reaction time and as such was easy to avoid, but eventually, they would wear down, and she would have them. She couldn't kill the Doctor by absorbing his temporal essence, but she could still touch him and in a struggle could still incapacitate him. If he had to, he would try to physically keep her away from Ozma and Carla but he didn't favor his chances against an invincible chronovore.

It had chased them one full lap around the lab when the Doctor's worse fear came true. A vortex began to swirl in the doors, and the casket carrying the Hand of Omega floated through. The Rani's eyes lit up in delighted surprise. The Doctor had brought her the key to her empire. Ignoring the Doctor and his companion's attempts to survive the attacking chronovore, the Rani opened the coffin and looked inside. She said, "The nearest star is Alpha Centauri. It is the perfect distance to create the Eye of Harmony. We can make our own time fleet. We have everything we need. We have Gallifrey's mightiest technology!"

The lid of the coffin slammed shut and the Rani jumped backward to avoid getting hit by the lid. A hand like a vise gripped the Rani on the back of the head and slammed her into the lid of the casket. She looked up at her attacker, her broken nose already swelling and blood trickling down her lip to her chin. Facing her was the other chronovore, Jennifer. Unlike the other chronovores, her face showed emotion, specifically anger, and the eyes...there was a thinking person behind those eyes, and those eyes were accusing the Rani of all kinds of things. The Rani raised a metal cylinder like the one the Master had. Jennifer was awash in chronons, but she didn't seem to notice. She took the tube and flung it away. Jennifer gripped the Rani around the neck. She wasn't squeezing yet because the Rani was able to plead.

"It doesn't have to be this way. You're alive. You can be restored. Imagine: eternally beautiful, an indestructible body, frozen in time so you can never die. You can-" but what Jennifer could have been or done was lost as she tightened her grip on the Rani's throat. Blood flowed from her neck as Jennifer's fingernails broke the skin and pierced muscles, arteries, and tendons. A sickening crunching sound could be heard across the lab as Jennifer crushed the Rani's throat and broke her neck. The Rani crumpled into a pile at Jennifer's feet, dying.

The Doctor, Ozma, and Carla were trying to keep the Hand of Omega between them and the other chronovore. Jennifer flung open the lid of the coffin, grabbed the other chronovore, and before it could react, threw it in with the Hand of Omega, which absorbed everything the chronovore was. Closing the lid, she looked up at Carla. Carla's expression registered surprise, shock, and then sadness. They communicated with each other with not a single word between them and they both understood perfectly.

The Master held a device that looked like the Doctor's sonic device. "Stay back," he said. Jennifer ignored him. The Master fired the device, and for a moment, it seemed that Jennifer was shrinking, but whatever happened, she remained unchanged and continued to advance. While all attention was on Jennifer and the Master, the Rani completed the initial stage of her regeneration. She stood, a new woman, though a bit dizzy.

The Doctor turned just in time to see her. "The Rani!"

Ozma and Carla both turned and saw a woman with dark red hair, a regal nose and a shield type face. "That's not the Rani," said Ozma.

"I assure you it is. When we die, we regenerate and our appearance changes. It's her, I promise."

The Rani looked for the world like a deer frozen in headlights. Regeneration leaves a Time Lord disoriented, and anyone would be disoriented after being so fatally injured and then going through a cellular metamorphosis. It was possible the Rani was a bit hazy on what was going on, but her obvious desire to flee clearly demonstrated that she knew she was responsible for whatever it was. A crash behind them drew everyone's attention and the Rani fled.

"Let her go," said the Doctor. "Her schemes are finished."

Meanwhile, the Master was fending off Jennifer with a hooked pry bar. Jennifer picked up a cart of lab equipment, vials, beakers, and the like, and hurled it at him. The Master just dove out of the way. He swung the crowbar at Jennifer, striking her soundly in the ribs. She grabbed the bar and used it to drag the Master towards her. She put the palm of her hand on the Master's coeliac plexus, using it as leverage to lift him off the ground. She threw him across the room, at least thirty feet. With the crowbar in hand, she swung hard at the velletigen core. Spiderweb fractures appeared wherever she hit it. The Master stood, also having regenerated and ran to a cabinet. Stepping inside, the door closing, it seemed that he would be doomed to die here, but the sound of his time ship fleeing filled the lab.

"We must hurry," said the Doctor. "If we're still here when she breaks the core, we won't survive." He ran to the door and used his sonic device to unlock it. Opening it, he turned to the Hand of Omega. "Return to the Type 40 Time And Relative Dimension In Space unit." The Hand of Omega immediately obeyed, following the Doctor, Ozma, and Carla throughout the building.

Chronovores staggered throughout the building, directionless, with no clear purpose. The few that attacked were disoriented and easily dodged. When they reached the stairwell, two chronovores appeared at the ground floor, apparently having been ordered to guard the exit. These two knew what they were supposed to do and seemed there was no way around them. Then, Jennifer must have succeeded in breaking the core, because these two chronovores suddenly fell to the floor, as dead as before the Rani enslaved them. Everything began to shake and the three of them fled up the stairs and made it out of the building. They turned to see what would become of the building and came face to face with an empty lot.

The Doctor said, "Absorbed by time. Nobody will remember the building, the Rani, or even Eden, but they'll remember the mysterious deaths."

Ozma and Carla looked at each, both truly disturbed. Carla chanced a look back at the empty lot and said, "Did it even happen?"

"Certainly it happened. Your friend is dead. The Rani and the Master have both destroyed countless lives and now they are off somewhere hatching new schemes."

"And what about that box?" asked Ozma.

"The Hand of Omega? It's already returned to the ship. Speaking of which, I think it's high time I got you home."

"Couldn't we spend a bit of time in Paris?"

The Doctor looked about to protest, then he considered it, looking around at the buildings, his hand upon his chin. "Yes, I do suppose this city has a certain charm to it." He turned to Carla.

"I can show you some things." She smiled and then looked a bit puzzled. "What you were saying to the Rani, and the way they changed...you're not human, are you?" Carla suddenly giggled. She never would have asked a question like that before what she had just experienced.

The Doctor looked as if he wasn't sure how to answer, then he said, "Not that I know of."

The Apple and the Serpent

The newly promoted Brigadier was nodding over paperwork upon his desk. It was even more dull than being a captain. The paperwork seemed to triple. Somehow, it didn't seem likely that generals such as Napoleon or Alexander the Great conducted their business in triplicate. He needed to get a blasted secretary. That's what he needed. He was startled awake. It seemed he had actually nodded off. Likely, it was nightmare that woke him. Though he couldn't remember it, it was probably about mountains of paper being poured upon him. There was a sound though, a sound that followed him into waking. He stared into an empty corner that wasn't empty any more.

There, in the corner, where the Brigadier was rather, though not completely, certain that nothing had been there previously, was an ornate cabinet, apparently a King Louis. It matched the rest of the pieces in the room. Hadn't it always been there? He couldn't quite recall. Then the door opened and out stepped the Doctor and Ozma. A look of deep confusion crossed the Brigadier's face.

"Doctor, what on Earth were you doing in...my?...cabinet?"

The Doctor looked over and smiled broadly. "Ah, Captain, it isn't really a cabinet."

"I've been promoted...quite an advancement, actually. I've moved over several grades to brigadier. Not really a cabinet?"

"Well, you have my deepest congratulations, Brigadier. This is my ship, you see. The cabinet is merely a disguise."

"How in the world...? It doesn't seem possible."

Ozma said, "Cap-I mean-Brigadier? What happened to Brigadier Durbin?"

The Brigadier looked over, uneasy and said, "Oh, yes. He retired from the service to pursue a political career. You'll see him tomorrow, actually. Ask him all about it." He looked back to cabinet and said, "A disguise?"

Ozma said, "Yes, the Doctor calls it a chameleon circuit! It not only changes the appearance but it skews your perception so that you think it belongs."

The Brigadier nodded. "Yes, you caught me dozing. When I woke, I saw this cabinet and I could have sworn it hadn't been there before, but then the more I thought of it, the more it seemed it had always been there."

The Doctor laughed and said cheerfully, "That's the perception filter! Now that you know, you won't be so easily fooled in the future."

"May I see?"

"Oh, no, my dear Brigadier. I was quite reluctant to show Ozma, as charming as I find her, but in her case, it was quite inescapable. No, and I fear that's for your own good. Limitless imagination is a good thing, but too much too soon is not quite so good. Best you dream that impossible things are possible than to have confirmation of those possibilities. That way, you learn at a pace you can handle, instead of rushing unprepared into the unknown."

The Brigadier observed the Doctor shrewdly, realized he wasn't going to win the argument, then said, "Perhaps you're right. What of the Rani and her toxic makeup?"

"Her operation is destroyed. She and the Master escaped, fled to another time and another world, but I doubt we've heard the last of them."

"And did you figure out what they were planning?"

"As I surmised, it was their own scheme at achieving immortality. It had the added bonus of turning the victims into low-level chronovores, immortal, invincible beings hovering between life and death; mindless slaves that could not be stopped. An army of conquest."

"Do you mean to tell me that the dead women were...?"

Ozma said, "They were like zombies. The Rani had been taking all of the bodies and storing them. Somehow she woke them up."

The Doctor said, "It was simple really. With the vellitigen draining their lifeforce, a part of their living essence was drawn outside of time. Thus, while they were essentially dead in every way that mattered, they couldn't completely die. The Rani needed only to expose them to the rest of the time vortex to awaken them at which point they became little more than automatons doing her bidding. Because they were trapped beyond time, they really couldn't be hurt, so as I said: unstoppable. I exposed her supply of vellitigen to the rest of time, and it erased her operation from time, as if it never happened, but the deaths still remain. Nobody will remember Eden, except those of us that participated in its downfall."

The Brigadier laughed. "I can hardly believe any of this, and yet it makes some kind of sense. Therefore, I assume I am going quite mad."

"Ah, are any of us truly sane?"

"Hmph, I don't suppose. So that's it, then. Rani, the serpent, has bitten her own apple, and the gates of Eden have closed."

"An eloquent way of saying it. Indeed, Eden has fallen, and now the Rani and the Master must conjure another scheme."

The Brigadier turned and went behind his desk. Sitting down, examined the Doctor coolly for several moments. "Doctor, I will not in this office much longer. I am only here until a suitable replacement can be found. I have been asked to head a task force whose purpose is to determine how much of a threat extra-terrestrial life poses to the United Kingdom. I need a man who knows what we're looking for and what to expect and I would like you to be my scientific adviser."

The Doctor's eyes widened for a moment, then his demeanor became somber. "Brigadier, I must tell you that I did not flee my home simply to plant roots in the first planet upon which I found myself. I'm afraid I haven't been very honest with anyone about that, least of all myself. I did not flee Gallifrey because I feared corruption or incompetence. That was merely an excuse. I fled because I was tired of seeing the same sky above me. I was tired of looking at the stars from a distance. I wanted to look up close. I am fond of this place. I never expected to make friends and now that I have, I doubt I will be able to stay away, but I don't wish to be grounded here. I want to see something extraordinary. When you come from a civilization in which we capture black holes and put them in jars, very little seems extraordinary." The Doctor looked out the window. Stars blinked overhead, sadly dim and few thanks to the lights of London. "When I've been amazed, I think that's when I'll return. After all, it's a big universe. There must be something out there that a Time Lord can't imagine. Just think: I'll be in a far better position to advise you then."

The Brigadier stood and walked up beside the Doctor, looking out the window also. "I understand the lure. Had it once myself. You've got a bigger world than I had to go out into. The draw must be incalculably worse for you than for me. I can't imagine I'll have too hard of time. I'll still need you when you come back. I doubt anyone else can do what you seem to do."

The Doctor looked to Ozma. "I am reluctant to bring you. There will be great danger and I fear the harm too much knowledge can do to you, but I am willing if you wish."

Ozma smiled and said, "I do, but I can't. With Alistair and Charles Durbin both leaving, my father will rely upon me, I think."

The Doctor smiled. "I will miss you, dear friend."

"Then you have to make sure you visit."

The Doctor stepped over and hugged Ozma, then walked over to the time ship. Turning to salute the Brigadier, he said, "I bid you both farewell, and I will be only too lucky to meet others such as you. You make me wish I were human, or you Time Lords." Then, the Doctor disappeared, and so did the time ship disguised as a cabinet. From there, the Doctor went to Mister Ichiba's personal residence, not far from the embassy and trusted him with the Hand of Omega, and a promise to never reveal it to anybody. Then the Doctor traveled and though from the Brigadier's and Ozma's perspective he returned only two years later in 1963, the Doctor had actually traveled for 150 years, and having seen what the Master had become, chose not to regenerate in all of that time, making him quite elderly. Then something strange happened. A woman called to him. Where she came from, how she got inside the time ship, he did not know.

"My thief..." she said. Then she vanished, but her voice remained. "Help me. Her voice cries from beyond time and it hurts me..."

Then, it was as if red hot knives had stabbed the Doctor's temples. He let the pain direct his hands over the controls of the time ship. When the pain subsided, he saw what he had done. He had done the impossible. He had broken a time-lock.

The Beginning

Millions of years ago while the creatures of Earth were mostly reptiles and birds and the precursors of man were nothing more than tiny apes the size of ferrets, Gallifrey shined bright in the stars. Still a mere child, fourteen-years-old, Lastborn stared into the looms, but she was not born of them. She had seen her mother thrown into it and she was to be next. Her father, years before, had been a Time Lord named the Doctor. He had been a good friend of Rassilon and Omega, but that was before the genocide of the Pythia, following a curse that prevented Time Lords from ever bearing children. The Doctor hid Lastborn away and threw himself into the looms. That was it. She was all that remained of the true Time Lords. Her parents would one day be reborn as this new breed of Time Lords, but they would not be the same. They would always be dead, their DNA recycled countless times. The loom-born killers tried to force Lastborn into the looms but she jumped upon the rim and skirted as far away from the angry mob as they could.

It had begun just a few days ago. Lord Rassilon had sealed himself in his tomb within the Death Zone. He bade the rest of his kin to rule the loom-born, and they did with an iron fist. They treated the loom-born as slaves. It was too much of an insult. Soon, the loom-born Time Lords rose to violence. They stole the Hand of Omega, and several time ships. Changing time to suit them, they killed all of the natural born Time Lords, except for the seemingly dead Rassilon. Now, they were going to kill Lastborn.

With uncanny balance achieved more through fear than from any real talent, for she was usually very unsteady upon her feet, Lastborn managed reach the outer range of the looms, where the angry mob would have to travel quite a bit to reach. She jumped down and ran in the direction of the wastes. Nobody would expect her to survive, but she planned to skirt the city and reenter so she could return to her home. She had to find her diary. It was her only tangible memory of her mother. As she entered the city, she chose to stick with back-roads and alleyways.

She ran into an apparent dead end and heard the sounds of the mob behind her. She turned in terror but the mob hadn't found her yet, but they were close, and her only exit was cut off. She heard the sound of a time ship behind her. Turning, she found herself face to face with a statue of Rassilon. It could only be another of the rebels. Whatever doom lay ahead, it wasn't as immediate as the doom that lay behind. She flung open the door of the time ship and hid inside. She turned slowly, taking in her surroundings. There was a quaint mirror to her left of stained mahogany, full length. Staring out of it was a girl with large, curious brown eyes, a thin triangular face, and short black hair, with only a little going down the back of her neck. Her face was covered with dirt and there was cut on her forehead. Blood leaked down the side of her face and stained her white robe.

The sounds of the mob came down the alley. She ran to the console and threw the lever that she knew would lock the doors. They closed slowly so that it seemed an eternity, but they kept the mob out. She felt the ship shake, and knew that it could not be harmed, at least not immediately. She looked across the console and for the first time, noticed the man. He was elderly, with pure white hair reached his jawline and curled inward. He wore a black suit and a tie in a style she knew to belong to Earth of the 20th century. His eyes were wide with surprise. He was not only startled to see her. There was recognition.

"You're..." he said, "but it can't be. No. That was another life. It must be a dream. It can't have been me...but it all comes through the looms. It is possible that a man destroyed by the looms could be resequenced and one day reborn, but could that be me? You are Lastborn."

The old man wasn't the only one to recognize something. Lastborn did not know his face, but she felt something very familiar. She could feel his very soul. This man felt like her father, but he couldn't be, and he was much too old. The only logical conclusion seemed equally illogical, but it was the only one she could come up with. "Grandfather?"

If possible, the man's eyes widened even further. "My dear child, I am the Doctor."

Without warning or preamble, Lastborn ran around the console and threw her arms around the Doctor, burying her head into his chest. "Please help, father! They're going to kill me!"

"You brought me here. Your plea was too desperate for your own blood to ignore. It even broke the time-lock, something that should be impossible."

"Please, they can destroy these ships! You must hurry!"

The Doctor let Lastborn go and worked the controls of the time ship. They both perceived the time-lock as it closed behind them again. They could never return to this hell even if they wished to. Lastborn, realizing she was safe sat in the one chair in the control room and began to sob. After her ordeal, she cried her misery, cried her pain, cried her suffering, cried her sorrow, and only then could she cry her relief, and finally her joy. Looking back up at the Doctor, she said, "You are truly my father?"

The Doctor, who had observed her this whole time said, "I have memories, but that man threw himself into the looms. He is reborn as me. I am something of what he was, enough it seems that I have inadvertently found his name, but I am a different man."

Lastborn stood so that she faced the Doctor. "Your feelings. Have you found family, or a stranger?"

The Doctor could only smile. "Family, of course."

"Will you take me with you?"

"Well, I can't very well leave you on your own, now can I?"

Lastborn sighed and said, "Then I suppose that you are my grandfather, after all." She stumbled back and took in her surroundings. "This ship. What do you call it?"

"What should I call it? It is a Type 40 Time And Relative Dimension In Space transport unit."

"Well, that's a bit cumbersome, don't you think? You'd think they would call it something shorter-easier to say."

"What do you have in mind?"

"Well, why not use the initials and call it TARDIS?"

The Doctor considered it for a moment and then laughed. "It certainly has a ring to it." His face became suddenly serious as he stepped forward. "Now, why don't you go clean that cut and wash up."

He showed her where to go and returned to the TARDIS console. He let her fly aimlessly through the time vortex while he considered where he should go next and he found his mind drifting to his unexpected companion. He had taken measures to assure her safety, or rather, his past self had. Apparently, those that he trusted hadn't been so trustworthy, and he knew that some of them were still alive, traveling in time ships, or rather TARDIS' of their own. What to do about her...he had to take her with him, certainly, and that meant she must now face same dangers he had. He would rather keep her safe. He would have to give the matter some thought, but it was obvious now that leaving her anywhere was not the safest choice. The only way to keep her safe was to keep her close and see to it himself. Then it struck the Doctor. This was someone else's daughter.

No. It was still his blood and he realized that regardless of the philosophical arguments, he cared what happened to her. He would take her with him and whatever her destiny, he would face it with her. She would be an oddity in the future. She was one of natural born Time Lords, the last of them. She would stay young and beautiful for thousands of years, and she would take thousands more years to grow old. She would never regenerate like a modern Time Lord. Other Time Lords may take an interest in her. No, he had to guard against that eventuality. A Time Lord that never regenerated but lived on seemingly without end would evoke a lurid and macabre interest in the modern people of Gallifrey. He had the solution. He would educate her in the ways of Earth, take her through its history, and then settle in a quiet area, perhaps return to that time he had visited so long ago.

Lastborn came back into the console room, already dressed as if she planned for their journey to Earth. She wore a cotton shirt with a turtle neck and sleeves that came down just past her elbows. In addition, she wore black slacks and matching shoes with a modest heel. She looked clean, refreshed, restored, rejuvenated. The Doctor explained his plan, including the problems they may have with other Time Lords, though he didn't go into detail, simply to say that they were both exiles, and must find a way to live with a sympathetic race, hidden among them.

Lastborn looked around, her imagination clearly running wild. "To Earth then. I need a human name, don't I?"

"Well, I suppose..."

"I'm still young and will have to go to school."

"Now, I don't see that that's necessary."

"But, Grandfather, what better way to learn how to be like them, and how to learn about them? I was born before any of them, wasn't I? I'm going millions of years into the future." She smiled dreamily. "I was born before man. Foreman. That's a human name, isn't it?"

The Doctor smiled at Lastborn's eagerness. She was truly a curious child. "It's a surname among humans, to be sure, but that name alone would be just as odd to them as Lastborn. You will need a first name to make Foreman sound normal."

"Well, if I am to be human, then let us use their naming conventions. Human parents name their children, do they not? So pick a human name for me."

The Doctor put his hand to his chin and said, "Well, I am rather found of 'Susan'."

"Susan," said Lastborn, letting the name roll off of her tongue, "Susan Foreman." She sat back in the Doctor's chair and looked at the sealed doors, without a doubt, imagining the universe of possibility that they represented. "I'm not really safe, am I? I'll never be safe again. The universe is full of hunters and they will chase me if I go near." Her eyes became distant. She needed rest now. All that had happened to her was finally beginning to impress itself upon her. The horrors of the past few days seemed distant though. Her father was alive in this man, and that was a wonderful ending to an horrific day. She couldn't help but feel her spirits soar. She found herself thinking of Earth once more, and wondering what humans would be like. "I wonder how they will react to me. I'm sure I'll be quite an unearthly child."


End file.
